



ON 


|\U 


V. f’lW &!t) K , N r W Y;ORS< &ii>ND8N 



SECOND COPY, 
IBS9. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.~PZL2> Copyright No. 

Shelf. _Jrl-31.0 6 T 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





•f- . V : - 
















































— 


















































































- 







































































































































. 
































' 












































• 














. 





































THAT 


OTHER WOMAN. 



BY 

amelia Appleton, 

// 7 y Ptmt-ht fipkle fifo (7*ren J&rdz t~PJ 



R TENNYSON NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 


LONDON. 


NEW YORK. 



“PZ.S 



31170 


Copyright, 1889, 
by 

F. Tennyson Neely 
in 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 

All Rights Reserved. 


TWO COP it a ><£ CHIVED. 



i 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

“Alas! I have fallen captive to a woman’s charms 
for the first time in my life,” thought Carl Clayton, as 
he suddenly dropped his paper and looked out over the 
deep blue of the sea in silence for many moments. 

“Mrs. Knickerbocker has had all her diamonds stolen, 
and such a destructive fire, so much loss of life, such 
distressing news,” said his mother, who was reclining 
in a luxurious easy -chair in their handsome parlor, 
eagerly reading the news, while M. La Bau was seated 
near her. 

Carl was so lost in thought that he had not noticed 
his mother’s remarks but leaning his arms on the sill 
of the open window, continued to gaze out into empty 
space. 

Mrs. Clayton, glancing up from her reading at Carl, 
and seeing his paper lying idly under his arm, said in 
surprise: “Why! you have not even read your paper, 
though you are always waiting so anxiously for it to 
come; so unusual. Give us a little benefit of your 
thoughts, my dear!” 

“I was thinking of the soiree you gave last evening; 


6 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


a great success, a brilliant affair, as all your entertain- 
ments are, and so many beautiful women were present.’* 

“Beautiful women!” she echoed, laughing lightly. 
“I am well pleased if you took the trouble to notice 
them, as I have been led to think that you were very 
indifferent and hard to please.” 

“You think me critical; it may be so. I think I was 
more impressed last evening than ever before. Mother, 
how did Miss Boynton please you?” 

“I was charmed with her; she is exceedingly pretty, 
and has very simple, sweet manners and a beautiful 
voice.” 

His mother’s answer was very gratifying to him. 

“By Jove, Clayton, remarkably pretty girl, but I do 
not think there is much money there,” exclaimed M. 
La Bau. 

“Bab! money is a Frenchman’s idol. You talk 
lightly. I am not looking for gold; sometimes one’s 
own happiness is to be taken into consideration.” 

“How foolishly you talk, Carl. I should think you 
were a lovesick lad,” said Mrs. Clayton. 

“I think I am, mother.” 

“What do you mean?” inquired she, as a perplexed 
look passed over her face. 

“I mean that I shall marry Beatrix Boynton.” 

“The deuce you will, Clayton.” 

“Yes; the deuce I will, La Bau.” 

“Why, Carl, I do not understand you,” said his 
mother, looking at him with utter amazement and 
wide-open eyes. “I never heard you talk so absurdly. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


7 


Do not joke on such serious subjects. Explain your- 
self.” 

“I mean just what I have said. I repeat it. I intend 
to marry Beatrix Boynton,” answered he, with his head 
bent and his eyes drooped, looking thoughtfully on the 
floor. 

“Why, you must be insane, growing stark mad, to 
talk in that way.” 

“No, I am not insane, neither am I mad. I never 
was more rational in my life. Why not? I think she 
has a very lovely face, and she is very refined; you have 
admitted that. It is so refreshing to see a young girl 
so unassuming and innocent of any art. She is so per- 
fectly natural, and so unlike the young girls I have 
been accustomed to meeting. I suppose it is the unlike- 
ness, the freshness that pleases me so much. I think 
I have made a very wise selection.” 

“But there is one other to be consulted; it takes two 
hearts to make a tie, Clayton,” said M. La Bau. 

Carl did not make any response to this last remark, 
as the thought of a refusal had never crossed his mind. 

“How very foolishly you talk, Carl, about a girl 
you have not seen more than half a dozen times in your 
life, and concerning whom you can know but little. I 
admit she has a very pretty face, and is refined, but 
that is not all in choosing a wife ! You do not and can- 
not know anything about the family. It would be w T ell 
to make some inquiries,” his mother said indignantly. 

“Iam not going to marry all the family. I only 
single out one,” said Carl. 


8 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I surely think it would be wise to know something 
about her antecedents before rushing headlong into a 
marriage you must regret at leisure. It seems unlike 
you. It is unmanly.” 

“Is it unmanly?” Carl echoed. 

“I understand that she is devoted to her mother, and 
I do not think she would discard any one of her family, 
however strong her affections were for any one else,” 
said M. La Bau. 

“You must have heard much. I would not request 
or expect her to make any such sacrifice for me.” 

“Since Carl has taken so much interest in this 
stranger, I must find out as much as possible. It would 
be very embarrassing not to be able to answer any ques- 
tions concerning her family. You have been about this 
place so much, you must have been able to glean a great 
deal of news about people living here. What do you 
know about them, M. La Bau?” inquired Mrs. Clayton. 

“There is a great mystery about her father, I believe. 
There are several rumors afloat, but no one seems to 
know the exact truth, nor to know where he is. I un- 
derstand that he has never been seen here and the 
family never mention his name, although it is well 
known that he is still living.” 

“Great heavens! did you hear what M. La Bau said, 
Carl? Mysterious father, things that cannot be ex- 
plained; how very dreadful it is. My son to be a 
mystery too, I suppose. I never had a mystery in the 
family. I detest them. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” she 
moaned, taking a very fine lace handkerchief and press- 


THAN OTHER WOMAN. 


9 


ing it to her eyes. “There has never been a blemish 
on our family name, and you, my own, my only son, 
who could make one of the best alliances in the coun- 
try, rich, handsome and thoroughly educated, to throw 
yourself away on a shoddy of a nobody ! The preten- 
tious impostor ! I knew by her looks there was some- 
thing wrong about her. I did not like her from the first 
time I saw her. Her father may have been a pirate, a 
bandit, a highway robber, a murderer, an outlaw, an 
escaped convict, a madman, an idiot, or something 
more frightful still than the things I have mentioned ; 
heaven only knows what. What will people say? I 
never thought you would do such a shocking thing as 
that. It is disgraceful. How artful she must be, and 
seemingly so innocent; it must have been all assumed. 
Oh! I entreat you, Carl, consider before you go any 
further. Do not do any rash act for a pretty face. I 

thought and expected you would marry Miss ” 

stopping without mentioning the name, and again 
burying her face in her much-embroidered handkerchief. 

Carl listened quietly, with his head bowed, not mak- 
ing any effort to speak during all this tirade. Slowly 
raising his head and walking toward M. La Bau and 
looking him full in the face, he addressed him in a 
calm, firm, deliberate manner: “You are unjust, un- 
generous. You are simply stating idle rumor, which 
is always uncharitable. It does not matter so much 
who you are as what you are. Miss Boynton’s face 
speaks what she is. It is a fair, pure, lovely reflection 
of her character. She is yet young, too young to 


10 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


shoulder the sins of others. She may have been sinned 
against. You know the common proverb,” a slight 
sneer passing over his face, “ ‘ Honi soit qui mal y 
pense .’ ” 

4 4 You are severe. Your mother inquired if I knew 
anything of the family, and I simply told what I had 
heard. It is only justice to you, as well as your 
mother, that you should know something of her parents’ 
history,” answered M. La Bau. 

“I have only known you a short time. I do not 
know anything of your family, and shall not take the 
trouble to make any inquiries— my time can be more 
agreeably occupied ; but every one has a history, such 
as it is. Back of every human being there is a past,” 
Carl replied sarcastically. 

" I beg your pardon, Clayton, but I only made a re- 
sponse to Mrs. Clayton’s questions. I am exceedingly 
sorry if I have given offense.” 

Carl’s lips curled scornfully as he replied: “You 
have given my mother needless unhappiness. And I 
cannot understand how any gentleman could indulge in 
repeating hearsay rumors that might injure a young girl. 
Such stories are often wholly unfounded. If she has 
had the misfortune to have a wayward father, then she 
has claim to our sympathy.” 

“What a dreadful girl she must be. I am out of 
patience with you, Carl. You should be grateful to M. 
La Bau for telling you the truth. It is well you should 
know all before linking yourself for life to one who has 
such a disreputable parent. You are so infatuated with 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


11 


her pretty face that you are completely blinded to her 
faults. A very strange infatuation, it seems to me. I 
am the last person on earth to find fault with any one. 
I am exceedingly obliged to you, M. La Bau, for the 
information you have given me. I do hope you will be 
able to find out more about her and tell me all you hear. 
I should consider it a great kindness. I feel as though 
I ought to apologize for my son’s rudeness. She is just 
what I pictured her, an artful vixen. It is an imposi- 
tion on my hospitality. Do be a little reasonable, Carl ; 
not throw your life away on one you know so little 
about.” 

Carl coolly takes a cigar, pulls vigorously at it, 
thrusts his hands into his pockets, and paces up and 
down the room, without replying. 

Maud Baxter, a visitor of Mrs. Clayton’s, hurriedly 
enters, equipped in a pink and white gingham, trimmed 
prettily with narrow pink and white ribbons and white 
lace, and wearing a wide-brimmed leghorn hat turned up 
on one side, which made her look very piquant. 

“Iam all ready for a walk,” said she with a smile. 
“How do I look?” 

Then hesitating and looking around, she exclaimed : 

“Why, what is it? what is the trouble with all of 
you? Can you not tell me, Carl? What is it all about, 
Mrs. Clayton? Do tell me, M. La Bau. I never saw 
such serious faces. Is any one dead or are you antici- 
pating something very terrible to happen? I do hope 
we are not going to be shaken all to pieces with 
another earthquake,” looking anxiously at Mrs. Clay- 


12 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


ton, who was still sitting with her handkerchief closely 
pressed over her eyes as if to shut out a horrible vision. 

No one made any reply to any of these questions, but 
M. La Bau immediately arose, extended his hand to 
Carl, and said: “I will bid you good-morning. I am 
very sorry if I have made any disturbance.’ ’ 

Carl took the cigar from his lips, looked at him dis- 
dainfully without accepting his proffered hand, and 
simply said 4 4 Good-by.” 

“M. La Bau, I do hope you will come and see us very 
often,” said Mrs. Clayton. “It is very unfortunate to 
have so much trouble, all for that cunning nobody, who 
cannot have any conscience at all. I ought to have 
known that Carl would make a fool of himself some 
day. It is often the way with men who have seen the 
most of the world ; they are hoodwinked in the end by 
some artful girl. I sincerely wish I had never come to 
this horrid place.” 

Maud Baxter stood looking inquiringly from one to 
the other, not having heard the previous remarks. 

“I should think by your looks that you had all lost 
your last dollar and last friend. If you are distressed 
about Carl, Mrs. Clayton, I think it needless, for all 
the girls are just crazy about him, and he takes no 
notice of them whatever.” 

“I wish you could have seen him this morning, dear. 
He stared over at Miss Boynton’s house like an idiot, 
and not a word in the papers did he read. You know 
how he torments the servants every morning until he 
get* them.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


13 


“ Ob ! she is like a beautiul dream ! Such a sweet ex- 
pression ! I think she must be lovely. I do wish I 
could know her better,’ , said Maud, with candor, as 
she walked out of the house with M. La Bau. 

Mrs. Clayton looked at Carl as though still in doubt. 
“Carl, I cannot now be led to think, that you actu- 
ally mean what you say. Are you really serious?” 

“I am quite serious.” 

“I really think you have lost your senses. Sit down 
and calmly think aw r hile. I had set my heart on your 
marrying Maud. She is such a dear, good girl. I am 
so fond of her. I do hope you will change your mind,” 
Mrs. Clayton said with a sigh. 

“Never, never shall I change my mind on that sub- 
ject,” he answered with decision. “You must try, 
mother, and get reconciled and receive her cordially 
when she again visits us.” 

“No, I shall never again receive her; she has taken 
advantage of my kindness,” with a scornful look. 

<£ I am sure you have misjudged her greatly. If you 
remember, we gave her a very urgent invitation to 
come, which she at first refused, and did not consent to 
accept until her brother insisted, and she delighted us 
with her sweet voice.” 

“I do hope you will yet see your mistake and retract 
at once, if it is not too late.” 

“It is too late for my own happiness,” answered he. 

“I should think you were a boy of nineteen instead 
of twenty-eight. I regret very much having in- 
vited her here. 1 do not care to have the responsibility 


14 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


of thrusting such characters on respectable society, ” 
said she, with growing wrath. 

Carl made no reply, but walked out of the room, out 
upon the grounds and seated himself in a rustic inclos- 
ure to commune with his own thoughts. “Did ever a 
man please himself in regard to choosing a wife with- 
out displeasing some member of his family? My 
mother speaks as though the heart could be heated at 
will, like a bath tub, with a little flow of hot water. 
Our hearts are not telegraph wires that we can set in 
motion at our pleasure and guide their beating with a 
touch of the finger. The forces of emotion are beyond 
our own command. 

“I have not the desire to check this passion, if I could. 
I am too happy in the thought of possessing her, for she 
is beautiful, good and true, and her face is ever before 
me in the daytime as well as in my dreams. As for her 
father, I care not. Of course, I should be better pleased 
if there was not any stain on the name. I wonder what 
it is? Gossip mongers will circulate all sorts of dis- 
agreeable stories, no doubt, but I will take her away 
from here to some foreign land ; we can live for each 
other alone. What greater happiness can a man want? 
She evidently is bored by society, and I find little pleas- 
ure in it myself. I will wait awhile and then go to the 
beach. I shall surely find her there, as I often see her 
sitting all alone, watching the waves or reading a 
book.” 

Minutes, hours went by, and still he sat there re- 
gardless of time, so deep in thought was he. Dusk came 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


15 


on, yet he was still there with his head resting on his. 
hands. 

“Carl, Carl!” 

Looking up as the sound of his name echoed through 
the air, he saw Maud running toward him, with her 
hat in her hand, swinging it to and fro as she went. 

“Oh, dear! I am all out of breath and nearly dead, 
Carl, running around to find you,” she cried, as she 
stopped to take a long breath. 

“Your mother is nearly crazy, hysterical and in great 
distress. She said she had not seen you since morning, 
you went off in such a bad humor and acted so strangely 
toward M. La Bau; she did not know but that you had 
gone suddenly insane and drowned yourself.” 

Carl laughed heartily. “No, I have not any notion 
of drowning myself. I never was happier in my life.” 

Maud looked at him curiously. “Why did you treat 
Pierre so badly? He would not tell me the conversation 
that passed between you, but he said you were very 
much angered, and he is very fond of you. Pierre is 
such a perfect gentleman, and so thoughtfully kind.” 

“You speak of him in a very familiar way, calling 
him by his first name,” said Carl, a little puzzled. 

“That is true, I forgot,” she said, with a restless 
movement. 

“M. La Bau made assertions that I thought reflected 
on the innocent, and I took him to task ; but we will 
let that pass. I am too happy to be long angry with 
any one.” 

“Happy!” exclaimed she. “Why do you hide your- 


16 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


self here all day as though you were an escaped 
lunatic?” 

“I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.” 

“ Are you never going to eat anything again? You 
cannot always exist on a little salt air. Civilized 
people must eat sometimes. Your mother is very 
anxious about you, and don’t you know that it is nearly 
dinner-time. It is now after 6 o’clock, so do come, 
Carl, and let your mother know you are still living and 
a happy, obedient son as ever. Come, come, now, Carl,” 
said she impatiently, taking hold of the sleeve of his 
coat and tapping her neat little foot on the ground. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

Cloister, a two-storied villa, was a short distance 
from Mrs. Clayton’s. It was in a beautiful seaside re- 
sort in New England. It stood on an abrupt ground 
overlooking the ocean. Green vines, intertwined with 
honeysuckles, ran along the sides of a veranda, where 
stood a young girl of not over eighteen summers, dressed 
in a simple white flannel. A silver brooch fastened it 
at the neck, a silver chain encircled it at the waist. 
Each hand rested on the railing, as she stood in the 
bright warm sunlight looking thoughtfully, dreamily, 
out into the far ocean. She was a very beautiful girl, 
tall, lithe, and very graceful. Her skin was exquis- 
itely fair; her magnificent eyes, of a deep violet, 
shaded by long dark lashes ; her nose well shaped, and 
mouth perfect, whether smiling or in repose; her teeth, 
white and even, and hair of a brownish hue. 

Hearing her brother’s familiar laugh, “Ha, ha, ha,” 
she turned quickly, and saw him in earnest conversation 
with a young man of not over twenty-four. He 
took a piece of paper from his pocket, lifted it high in 
the air ; it fluttered in the breeze and fell at the young 
man’s feet like a tired bird. He eagerly picked it up, 
and hastily stowed it away in his inner pocket. Joe 


18 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


took another piece from his vest, waved it to and fro 
before him, and ran laughing into the house. 

“Wait, wait, remember your promise,” the young 
man cried excitedly, and hastily followed, but the fleet- 
ness of Joe carried him swiftly onward, and the door he 
quickly closed after him, leaving the stranger alone, 
looking anxiously at the house. Looking through the 
vines, unseen by him, she saw him plainly. 

He was jauntily dressed, rather short and slight, with 
black hair, black mustache and flashing black eyes. 
He carried a heavy cane, his hat was slightly inclined 
on one side, one hand was in his pocket, which gave 
him an air of sang-froid. He was handsome, she 
thought. A young girl who had seen very little of the 
world, and especially of the society of men, could easily 
be led to think him handsome. 

“Why had he watched and searched for her brother 
Joe nearly all the previous day? What was his motive?’ ’ 
So Beatrix Boynton mused. She hastened after her 
brother, as she remembered his having told her that he 
was having some fun at the expense of this young man, 
that he would tell her all, and he would have done so 
the day before, had they not been interrupted by a 
friend. 

“Oh, Joe,” she cried, as she entered the house, “lam 
so glad you are here. I have been all anxiety to have 
you come in and tell me all about it.” 

“All about what?” inquired he. 

“All about that young man; you must remember 
you commenced to tell me yesterday; you could not 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


19 


finish as you met a friend, and I have not had an op* 
portunity to ask you about him until now. I am 


“Well, Beatrix,” interrupting her, “that was yes- 
terday.” 

“But to*day will do as well,” she persisted. 

“I cannot tell you any more; many things have hap- 
pened since yesterday. I was in hopes it would escape 
your mind.” 

“You have just been in close conversation with that 
same man,” she continued. 

He looked eagerly at her, and inquired: “How did 
you know that?” 

“I was standing outside. I saw you through the 
vines.” 

“I have told you all I can. I am not such a fool of 
a boy as to run and tell everything I know to every- 
body.” 

“I overheard one remark, Joe.” 

He looked startled and inquired, “What was it?” 

“You do not confide in me; why should I in you?” 

“I made a promise to that young man this morning,” 
he retorted somewhat testily. “I propose to keep my 
word. Don’t you think a boy can have and keep a 
secret? Mamma always taught me never to betray a 
confidence, and always to tell the truth.” 

Beatrix felt grieved, pained, for she dearly loved her 
brother, but knowing his mischievous nature, was in 
constant dread and anxiety fearing he would get into 
some very serious trouble. 


20 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You may be right,” she answered dubiously. “I 
will not force you against the dictates of your own 
conscience.” 

“Then will you tell me, Beatrix, what you heard?” 
said he, putting his arms caressingly around her neck. 

“Assuredly I will,^” she answered kindly. “I sim- 
ply heard the young man say, ‘Wait, wait, remember 
your promise. ’ I did not listen intentionally, but could 
not avoid hearing that.” 

“Are you sure that was all you heard,” inquired he 
eagerly. 

“Yes, that was all I heard,” she answered gravely. 

The next day, seeing on Joe’s table an exquisite 
cream plush box, inlaid with pearls and filled with deli- 
cious bon bons, and by its side a small gold key, deli- 
cately marked “A secret,” she knew it must have come 
from the same dark stranger she had so often seen in 
her brother’s company. All this heightened her curi- 
osity. “What can it all mean?” she repeatedly asked 
herself. She could only wait until time should dis- 
close all. 

Beatrix Boynton’s family consisted of her mother, 
her brother Joe, and herself. Her father was still liv- 
ing, but as she had not seen him since she was a mere 
child, her recollection of him was very dim, and she 
had never known what it was to have a father’s love 
and protection. As her mother was in delicate health 
and her brother much younger than herself, she felt the 
necessity of taking some charge of him. 

One day later, as Beatrix was reading aloud to her 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


21 


mother, she heard the tramping of feet on the pave- 
ment below, and heard people talking in loud, excited 
voices. Looking out of the window, she saw a large 
man running as fast as his avoirdupois would allow 
him, and yelling like an Apache Indian on the war- 
path, with an excited crowd following him. Glancing 
down the street, she saw Joe driving at breakneck 
speed a wild-looking horse, half on the sidewalk, half 
on the street, swaying from curb to curb. Hurriedly 
snatching her hat, she rushed out of the house just in 
time to see him turn a sharp corner, dash up against a 
house, and speed on like the wind. Rushing on and on 
as fast as she could, she passed the large man, who was 
shouting at the top of his voice and puffing violently. 

“Oh! I am afraid he will get killed,’ ’ she cried. 

“Iam only afraid he won’t get killed, the rascal! 
The world is better off without such boys,” shouted the 
man. 

Beatrix turned the corner and saw the horse rushing 
on, foaming at the mouth, and Joe bouncing up in the 
air and down again in the bottom of the wagon. 

At that moment a man rushed out of a store and 
caught the horse by the bridle and stopped him so sud- 
denly that Joe was thrown to the ground. 

Beatrix was almost paralyzed ; she thought he must 
be killed ; she could not move; she covered her face with 
her hands and sood still. She heard the passing to and 
fro, but could not speak, so great was her fright. 

“Miss Boynton,” some one said, in a pleasant voice, 
“you had better go to your brother as soon as possible.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Is be killed?” she almost whispered. 

“No, he is only slightly hurt; but you had better get 
to him before the owner of the horse reaches him, for 
he is very angry.” 

Looking up, she saw the same dark stranger she had 
so often seen in Joe’s company. She made him no 
reply, but rushed on, and had scarcely entered the store 
where her brother had been taken when the owner of 
the horse followed her, all out of breath and wiping his 
face with a very large red handkerchief. He looked at 
her savagely. 

“Wa’al, where’s that boy?” he roared. ] 

4 4 1 am sure I don’t know, ’ ’ she faltered. 4 4 1 hope you 
will not do him any harm.” 

4 4 Wouldn’t I? By gum, I would. I’d scalp him,” 
taking out a jack-knife from his pocket and flourishing 
it in the air, and again replacing it. 4 4 You must think 
I am a blasted idiot, young miss.” 

“Your horse is not hurt, your wagon is uninjured,” 
she said consolingly. 

“Do you know, miss, that hoss is a colt? I wonder 
that ’ere boy wa’n’t kilt; good thing for the town if he 
had been, I guess. You city folks come down here and 
think ’tain’t no matter how you treat us country folks, 
but you’ll find out; purty how de do when a feller 
can’t leave his hoss for a minute just to take a cool 
drink. Now I must have some satisfactshun. I mean 
biz,” again taking out his jack-knife and flourishing 
it high above his head with the shining blade open. 

“I am really very sorry. My brother does not mean 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


23 


to do harm; he is only mischievous, thoughtless,” 
pleaded Beatrix. 

“What do you think I looked like, a man nigh onto 
fifty, running and kicking up his heels like a yearling 
calf, and the Widder Jones up yonder looking at me, 
and she ’peared to like me before. Now she will think 
I am a blamed fool, and it may be the means of my 
losing her. A good thrashing would do that ’ere boy 
good. I wish I had the little dare devil now, blast 
him, I’d make him squeal,” said the man angrily. 

“You would, would you?” came from Joe, in the in- 
side room. 

“Hold your tongue, you green monkey,” thundered 
the man. 

There was only a thin partition between the two 
rooms, and every word could be distinctly heard, but 
Beatrix, having found out that the door was securely 
locked, did not feel alarmed. 

“That ’ere boy ought to be tied up; think of it, he 
ran my hoss for nearly a mile.” 

“Whoopee, whoop! didn’t that hoss of a colt go?” 
again from the inside room. 

“You stop your noise, you little darn cuss, or I’ll 
knock the daylights out of you,” roared the man. 

“Oh, don’t deprive me of my daylights, sir! Please 
don’t,” again from Joe. 

“Lookee here, miss; you just unlock that door and 
let me at that ’ere monkey of a boy; jest let me git at 
him for a few minutes and I’ll make short work of 
him,” shaking his hands menacingly before her face, 


24 THAT OTHER WOMAN. 

Beatrix tremblingly retreated a few steps, as his 
hands were of an extra large size, and she did not care 
to have them come in very close proximity to her face. 

“I nearly killed myself to save my hoss. What do 
you think a big man like me looks like running down 
street?” again repeated the man. 

4 ‘Looked as though you’d bust,” again from Joe. 

“By thunder, I’ll be darned if I don’t break the door 
down,” said the man. 

“You must keep very quiet, Joe, very quiet indeed. 
Please don’t speak another word, please don’t,” 
pleaded Beatrix. 

“Look at all them nice fruits I brought to market, 
and only sold half of them; look at ’em all scattered 
over the ground. Do you think I’m going to lose all 
them?” said the man angrily. 

“I will willingly pay for them. I should consider it 
a favor if you will allow me. How many have you 
sold? How much is your loss?” said Beatrix. 

“What do you take me for? A natural rememberin’ 
machine? Take a man a week to do so much thinking 
up,” answered he excitedly. 

Beatrix looked out over the ground and it seemed to 
her that his loss was very small. Taking a five-dollar 
note out of her pocket book, which she knew to a shrewd 
Yankee was a great consoler, and passing it to him, she 
said, “Please take that. Will it pay you?” 

“Thank you, thank you, miss; you seem to be a de- 
cent kind of a gal,” shifting his cud of tobacco to one 
side, and squinting his eyes and looking at her for a 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


25 


moment. “ Bless me, what a purty critter you are. 
Downright beauty, no mistake about it. How did you 
happen to have sich a scapegrace of a brother? But 
that will be all right, I guess. Don’t you feel bad or 
bother any more about it. I didn’t mean nothin’ by 
what I said. Good-by, miss,” holding out his hand. 

“Ta-ta!” came Joe’s parting words. 

As soon as the man had gone, the keeper of the store 
unlocked the door of the inside room. Joe came limp- 
ing out with his face all drawn up, in a sad plight; his 
hat was lost, his coat was slit all the way up the back, 
one shoe was broken, and he was covered with dirt and 
mud. 

“Are you much hurt?” inquired Beatrix anxiously, 
without a reproach or a thought of his mischief as she 
looked at his distressed face and dilapidated condition. 

“Yes, I am. I do not think I can walk, my ankle 
pains me so badly. What an old idiot that man was to 
jerk a fellow to the ground without any notice when he 
was only trying to have a little fun,” he whispered to 
his sister, looking much grieved, as though he was the 
one transgressed against instead of the transgressor. 

“You ought to be very grateful to him for stopping 
the horse ; he endangered his own life and he hid you 
away from the fruit dealer, who in his anger might 
have done you much harm. He saved your life, Joe.” 

“No, he did not. He nearly jerked the life out of 
me.” 

The storekeeper was so busy waiting upon a customer 
that he did not hear these last remarks. 


26 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You must not try to walk. I think you have a 
sprained ankle,’ ’ said Beatrix. 

“Oh! dear! it does pain me so,” responded Joe 
testily. “I wish I had never had any ankle; better be 
without than to suffer this way.” 

“It is your own fault, Joe, you should not interfere 
with other people’s things. You are always in mis- 
chief. I am so sorry to say it.” 

“Beatrix, I am going to be good and never make you 
any more trouble,” answered Joe penitently. 

She willingly forgave this generous, impulsive boy, 
with his luxuriant brown, curly hair and roguish 
brown eyes, who was always giving her any amount of 
trouble. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


27 


CHAPTER III. 

Carl Clayton’s fate was surely an enviable one. 
He was a very intellectual and Saxon-looking person, 
with grave, earnest, dark-blue eyes, brown hair and red- 
dish brown mustache. He was tall and graceful, and 
had a charm and ease of manner very fascinating. He 
inherited from his father brilliant intelligence and a 
taste for learning and also a very large fortune. He 
was an only son, and adored by his mother with a sel- 
fishness possessing more of worldly ambition than re- 
gard for his own happiness. He had been flattered, 
petted, worshipped and sought after by women, and 
courted by men, and now for the first time in his life 
he had fallen desperately in love with the beautiful girl, 
Beatrix Boynton. Those soft, violet eyes haunted him 
as he remembered them uplifted innocently to his or 
drooped thoughtfully to the floor, the evening before at 
his mother’s soiree. 

Carl followed Maud to the house and found his 
mother in a great state of excitement. Her maid was 
bathing her head, and she was groaning as if in great 
pain, seeing her son, a faint smile passed over her face. 
“I have been nearly wild about you, Carl. I did not 
know as ever again I should see you alive. Where 
have you been this long, weary day?” inquired she 
solemnly. 


28 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


He seated himself beside her, taking her hand in his 
affectionately, and said: “Console yourself, mother. I 
have been quite near the house all day, all alone. 

I have not spoken a word to any one but Maud since I 
left you this morning.” 

She looked surprised and inquired, “What have you 
been doing?” 

“I have simply been thinking.” 

“Thoughts alone will not sustain life very long, and 
if you continue to act in this way, and sit thinking all 
day, you will surely die in a lunatic asylum.” 

Carl laughed. “My thoughts were too pleasant to 
drive me crazy. I find too much pleasure in this life 
to desire to throw off this mortal coil at present. Fate 
has keen very kind to me so far, mother.” 

“You seem to be in a very happy state of mind. I 
think you will find you have made a great mistake.” 

“I am very happy, indeed. I am sure, mother, you 
will find that you have been the one that has been mis- 
taken. I am sorry you have given yourself so much 
uneasiness of mind in regard to this affair, and hope in 
time you will be more reconciled.” 

Mrs. Clayton turned her head away, with a long- 
drawn sigh. She loved her son as she had never loved 
any one else, as well as she was capable of loving any 
one. She had married a man twice her age, who was 
immensely rich, and had borne his name and position 
with grace. She was naturally cold and selfish, and 
her only hope centered in her son. He had always 
consulted her before, and she thought it only a duty on 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


29 


his part to consider her wishes before his own. He was 
fond of his mother, and always treated her with the 
greatest respect, but he was a man of unusual decision, 
and had a decided will of his own, and in this case 
was determined to have his own way. 

Mrs. Clayton, after seeing her son, regained her com- 
posure somewhat, but that one thought was uppermost 
in her mind. She was humiliated at the idea of her 
son’s giving his name to a mere nobody, as she thought 
her, and her intention was to break off the attachment 
if possible. She hoped it was simply the fancy of a 
day, although this was the first time she ever heard 
him express any sentiment for any woman. As she sat 
with her son and Maud in the evening, she again ad- 
vanced the subject. 

“Carl, do you not think you could overcome this 
foolish fancy?” mildly she said. 

“You speak of the heart, mother, as though it were a 
watch spring, to be set going by a little gold key, or if 
it were let alone for a day it would cease its motion.” 

“It is all perfect nonsense, Carl, for a man of your 
years to have such ridiculous, sentimental, boyish ideas, 
and you know there must be something very dreadful 
about the father when they never dare mention his 
name to any one. Why do you not investigate? You 
may know at present?” said she, looking inquiringly 
at him. 

“I do not know, nor do I care. She is not responsi- 
ble for her father’s misdeeds. I will not let his mis- 
conduct stand in the way. There are many dark 


30 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


seorets in many families that are never known to the 
world. Would Miss Boynton choose to confide in me, 
I should be very glad to know, but marry her I will,” 
said Carl emphatically. 

“Allow me to ask you, what you would do with such 
a wife in your household,” she inquired indignantly. 

“I would do the same as other men do with wives,” 
laughed Carl. “She is well fitted for any society; she 
has both education and refinement.” 

“She would not be received by any of our friends,” 
retorted his mother. 

“That would be very little to regret. A happy, 
peaceful home with loved ones around you is much 
more to be desired than the gilded hall of wealth or 
glamour of renown.” 

“Pshaw!” angrily tapping her foot on the carpet. 

“You do not talk with any reason. My patience is 
exhausted,” she exclaimed. 

Maud looked up inquiringly from the books she was 
reading, as she had only caught a few words now and 
then, and did not know of this little love affair. 
“What is it, Mrs. Clayton?” she asked. “Carl acts 
and talks so strangely. I did not know that he ever 
differed with you.” 

“We have a lunatic, a madman, in our presence, I 
think; I hardly know which term to apply to him. I 
am disgusted with my own son. I really think I ought 
to consult a physician and have him prescribe some very 
powerful drug.” 

“Powerful enough to put me out of the world,” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


31 


laughingly replied Carl. “But it cannot be helped 
now, mother ; her beautiful face haunts me. I feel as 
though life would be miserable without her.” 

“I have always gratified every wish. You have been 
indulged even in the merest trifles, and now to act so 
unwisely, so selfishly, and throw your life away on an 
impostor, a humdrum. I have brought you up with 
such delicate care — my time all thrown away. It is ex- 
asperating,” she said, closing her eyelids and looking 
very much distressed. 

“I am very sorry to displease you, mother, but it is 
an affair of the heart, and I do not think I am acting 
unwisely.” 

“Not even though it cost the misery of others, I sup- 
pose.” 

“I do not understand,” said Maud dreamily, looking 
up again from the book in her hands. 

“Let us leave him to rave alone; it is intolerable. 
Come, dear,” said Mrs. Clayton, as she took Maud by 
the hand and led her from the room. 

She was chagrined, disappointed. She had enter- 
tained the thought that Carl would marry Maud Baxter. 
That had been her pet anticipation for nearly two years 
past. She was in every way his equal, her mother was 
an old-time friend, who had inherited a large fortune, 
which Maud and her sister would come into possession 
of at her death. 

Maud^was petite, vivacious, and bright, although not 
considered critically pretty. Her mouth was large; 
she had full rosy lips, black hair and beautiful large 
brown eyes, which were her best feature, 


32 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Carl, left to himself, paced up and down, until long 
after midnight, thinking, and the more he thought the 
more excited and heated his imagination became. 
“She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and 
she just suits my fancy. I am determined to marry 
her,” he said a thousand times to himself. Opposition 
had only stimulated his passion, as is usually the case. 
“I am sorry to disappoint my mother, but she will love 
her when she knows her better. I will watch for her 
to-morrow, as she takes her usual walk on the beach, 
and tell her all. How happy we shall be? I am im- 
patient for the time to come,” Carl murmured to him- 
self, as he ascended the stairs to bed that night. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

“Beatrix, will you not come with me for a short 
walk along the beach? It is cruel to keep a boy in- 
doors this beautiful day,” said Joe, standing on one 
foot looking out the window the day after the accident. 

“But you cannot bear your weight on your foot yet. 
How do you think you can walk?” she replied. 

“By your assistance and a cane,” he persisted. 

“Very well, I will go,” answered she. 

4 ‘ Dress up in one of your pretty dresses and look very 
nice.” 

Beatrix laughed softly. “ I will let you dictate my 
dress. What shall I wear?” 

“Wear that large leghorn hat, lined with dark-blue 
velvet turned up on one side and trimmed with white 
daisies and blue velvet, and that blue and white dress, 
trimmed with white lace and the same colored velvet as 
your hat — that is very stylish — and your silver girdle,” 
and he continued enumerating the different articles she 
should put on. 

She dressed to please him, and together they went a 
short distance and seated themselves on a bench near 
the ocean. They had been there but a few moments 
before she saw the same dark stranger coming toward 
them whom she had often seen in her brother’s com- 


pany. 


34 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Why, Joe, where did he come from?” inquired she, 
in astonishment, as he slowly passed and lifted his hat 
politely. “I should think he was following you 
around.” 

Joe laughed and clapped his hands together joyfully, 
and said half -aloud: “It is a good joke.” Turning to 
his sister, he remarked : 

1 ‘ He is French. Is he not handsome? Did you notice 
what a beautiful mouth and what very white teeth he 
has?” 

“Yes,” she replied thoughtfully, yet a sense of dis- 
trust grew up in her heart against him, why she could 
not explain. 

“He is so good,” said Joe with emphasis. 

“How do you know that, Joe?” 

“He is so generous. Did you not see the nice can- 
dies he gave me? A man that will be so good to a boy 
amounts to something. A man like that would not tell 
a falsehood. He reminds me of George Washington.” 

“Generosity to a boy, in your estimation, constitutes 
goodness,” said Beatrix, with a little laugh. 

“I think he will make a great man some day,” an- 
swered Joe, with an earnest nod of the head. 

“Why? Because he gave you that beautiful pearl 
box of candies, with a gold key? When are you going 
to tell me that secret? I am very anxious to hear it. 
It seems my destiny to have secrets. I am overbur- 
dened with them.” 

“I do not see as you have more than one, sister. That 
is more than most girls can keep.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


35 


“I wish I had only that one,” answered she softly. 
I do not like mysteries; anything is better than sus- 
pense.” 

“I do not like mysteries either, and I won’t have any. 
I will search them all out,” Joe replied. 

“Should she tell him? No, the time is not far distant 
when he must know all. What a tempest there will 
be?” she thought. 

“You ought to like that gentleman, Trix. Do you 
know what he said about you?” 

“No. What did he say?” inquired she curiously. 

“He asked me who that beautiful, graceful girl was 
with me one day we met him when we were walking 
together.” 

“That was very kind, but no doubt he said that 
thinking it would please you. There he is, Joe, sitting 
opposite and looking directly at us so earnestly. It 
makes me uncomfortable. Do you not think it is time 
to go home?” she said nervously, as a blush suffused 
her face. 

“I can make him much more uncomfortable than he 
can make you by simply looking at you,” declared Joe, 
laughing, “but it is growing late, and if you think best 
we will go.” 

Darkness came on as Beatrix and her brother walked 
home in silence, she thinking and wondering what the 
secret could be between this strange dark man and Joe, 
who had guarded it so safely from her. Two days went 
by. There was to be a hop at the most fashionable 
hotel. Invitations had been sent to all the owners of 


36 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


cottages at the seaside. Beatrix and Joe were among 
the invited guests. 

“I intend to go this evening,” said Joe. “I have 
sent Michael down to the store to buy a crutch. I do 
not propose to come to the seaside and sit on my 
haunches all the season like a poor old cripple. I ought 
to have some sport after poring over those rusty old 
studies all winter — Batin, French, German. What 
good is that going to do a fellow? He gets too much 
nonsense in his head studying so much. I wonder it 
did not kill me.” 

“I cannot understand why you persist in going to 
the hop with your sprained ankle, Joe. What pleasure 
can it be? You cannot dance,” said Beatrix, a little 
surprised. “Then poor mamma will be all alone with 
the servants. I do not think I ought to leave her.” 

“Mamma said she desired to have us go and have all 
the pleasure and enjoyment we can, but you, Beatrix, 
never seem to want mo to have any pleasure at all,” 
said Joe, looking as though he was very much abused. 

“I sacrifice much for your pleasure, as my inclination 
would be to remain at home, ’ ’ replied she. 

Beatrix’s expostulations and entreaties were of no 
avail. So when evening came she arrayed herself in a 
light, silvery blue silk, trimmed with blue tulle and be- 
sprinkled with silver spangles. A bunch of lilies of 
the valley was fastened at the waist, and one row of 
pearls adorned her neck. An exceedingly simple and 
becoming costume. 

It was late when they arrived at the hotel. Beatrix 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


37 

hesitated as she advanced near the door. “Joe, do not 
go now,” she pleaded. “Every one seems to be looking 
at us, and it almost terrifies me to walk the long hall 
before all those people, there being no seats near the 
entrance.” 

“Pshaw! I am not afraid. You look as nice as 
any one. Your dress is lovely, and you look so sweet; 
that is why you attract so much attention,” said he 
consolingly. 

“No, no, I cannot go,” as the thought passed through 
her mind : “They may know something of my father’s 
history,” and a deep flush overspread her fair skin. 

“Come, Beatrix, the music is fine.” Joe began to 
hum the air in a low tone, and as he took hold of the 
top of her glove, she could not retreat, but walked 
timidly down the long room, Joe’s crutch going thump, 
thump, with every step. She could not hear anything 
but that. It seemed to her that it drowned everything 
else in the room. Don’t, Joe, please don’t put that 
crutch down so hard; put it down a little more softly,” 
pleadingly she said. 

“How hard you are on a poor lame boy. You are so 
timid, Beatrix, I suppose, it must be natural,” and he 
went on talking as fast as he could, as though perfectly 
unconscious of the presence of any one, and bowing to 
acquaintances as he passed, as he had made man3 r , 
while Beatrix scarcely knew any one. A moment later 
she saw the same dark stranger she had seen many 
times in conversation with her brother pushing through 
the crowd toward them. He greeted Joe cordially, and 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


38 

talked with him in a low tone a few moments. Then 
Joe, turning to his sister, said : “The young man has re- 
quested an introduction.” 

“Oh, no!” she pleaded. “I do not care to be intro- 
duced to any one. I enjoy seeing others dance.” 

But Joe insisted. “My sister, M. La Bau,” intro- 
ducing her. This was the first time she had ever heard 
his name spoken. 

“I hope I have not intruded,” said M. La Bau, in a 
low monotone. “I am, indeed, pleased to meet you. I 
have had many pleasant chats with your brother, and 
have seen you so often I feel as though I ought to know 
you quite well. May I not have the pleasure of a dance 
with you?” 

He takes her tablet, coolly writes his name for a 
waltz, with assuring confidence, without giving her an 
opportunity to decline. “That was a most pleasurable 
dance, Miss Boynton. I cannot express to you how 
much I enjoyed it,” said he, as he took her back to her 
seat. “You dance like a fairy, and look like an angel. ’ ’ 
laying his hand on his heart the while, and looking at 
her lovingly, in a flirtatious manner sometimes as- 
sumed by men. 

“I shall again come very soon to claim you; so au 
revoir .” 

Beatrix opened her dreamy eyes wide, looks up at 
him in a childlike way as though she did not quite un- 
derstand his meaning, and slightly bows as he leave*. 
She had not been seated long before Car] Clayton came 
to her. He had heard that she was there, and had hur- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


39 


ried from his house to the hotel expressly to find her. 
Carl’s face beamed with a happy smile as he addressed 
her. She looked more lovely, if possible, than the first 
night he saw her. 

“It will give me great pleasure if you will allow me 
to dance with you,” Carl said, in a most courteous 
manner. 

“You are very kind, Mr. Clayton, but I beg to be 
excused. I enjoy sightseeing. This is all quite new 
to me. I have never been to so large a ball before. My 
mother is an invalid ; she never goes into society and 
never receives. We live very quietly, excepting when 
my brother Joe stirs up the household by his mischief. 
But mamma is very lovely, very gentle, very kind. I 
am always happy with her at home,” said Beatrix 
softly, dropping her eyelids and looking to the floor. 

“If you do not object I will sit beside you. I am 
not overfond of dancing myself, and I will do a little 
sightseeing also. The room is overcrowded, and the 
weather warm for much exercise. It is a very pretty 
scene, with the brilliant lights reflecting on many 
sparkling jewels, is it not?” said Carl. 

“And here are exquisitely dressed women and many 
pretty girls,” Beatrix added. 

“There are many beautiful girls here I admit, and 
nearly all from Boston,” answered Carl, looking at her 
admiringly. 

Beatrix simply smiles without replying, but thinks 
how charming and delightful he is as he sits and chats 
with her awhile. 


40 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Have you not even danced once?” questioned Carl. 

“Only once, with M. La Bau,” she replied. 

A frown passed over Carl’s face at the mention of M. 
La Bau’s name. “You must feel fatigued sitting here 
so long in the heat, let us walk awhile. We may be 
able to find a cooler spot; a little air would be refresh- 
ing,” said he. 

She arises reluctantly and accepts his proffered arm. 
As they walk up and down the long room, every eye is 
looking at this beautiful girl, who so gracefully paces 
up and down the room, leaning on the arm of the hand- 
some and wealthy Carl Clayton. Everyone from New 
York knows him, but they are curious to know who his 
beautiful companion is. All his masculine friends are 
on the qui vive , and you hear a murmur of wonder and 
admiration as she slowly passes through the room. 

Beatrix being conscious that they are attracting atten- 
tion, the rose color deepens on her cheeks. She uplifts 
her soft, dreamy eyes to his. “Every one seems to be 
looking at you, Mr. Clayton, do you not prefer to sit 
down?” she said. 

“You are the attraction,” he answered courteously. 
“With your consent, we will take a walk outside in 
the open air. I think it will be much more agreeable 
to you away from the dazzling lights and crowds of 
strangers.” 

The grounds looked very pretty with their little 
variegated, soft, fairy lights scattered here and there. 
They walked slowly around in deep thought for some 
moments. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


41 


Carl broke the silence : ‘ ‘ Let us sit down here and talk 
in quietude.” 

She made no response, but took a seat on the rustic 
bench, as he silently pointed for her to be seated, glad 
to be away from the bustle inside. They sat in silence 
for many moments, he gazing at her intently, passion- 
ately. 

The soft moon was shining brightly against the daz- 
zling whiteness of her skin, as her face was uplifted in 
all its sweetness and purity to the blue of the sky. 

“Have you enjoyed the evening?” inquired Carl. 

“I enjoyed the music exceedingly. I thought it de- 
lightful. I always enjoy music, I am very fond of it, 
but I sometimes think there is more to be enjoyed in the 
quietude of your home than in the tumult of society.” 

There was much sadness in her voice as she spoke 
these last words. The fear of family exposure was 
always before Beatrix Boynton, that terrible suspense, 
fear of what she knew not. 

“You speak like an old recluse who has retired from 
the world in disgust after many seasons of pleasure — 
you so young, so beautiful, so charming, and your 
first season out, I imagine. I cannot understand it, 
when all young people seek society so eagerly. You 
differ greatly from the young ladies I have met,” de- 
clared Carl. 

“I fear you think me most strange. I do not want to 
be unlike other girls,” she said suddenly, turning her 
face to his; then quickly added: “I enjoyed seeing the 
young ladies dance; they were pretty, were they not?” 


42 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I admit the young ladies looked very pretty, thi3 
evening, but you were the most lovely of all in my 
eyes,” replied Carl, gallantly dropping his voice to 
almost a whisper. 

Beatrix made no response to the compliments paid 
her, but after a moment’s thought said : “I should have 
inquired after your mother. I was in hopes to see her 
here this evening. She is so thoughtful and kind. I 
think her very charming.” 

“I am glad you like her,” answered Carl. 

Beatrix, bending her head slightly, and dropping her 
glance to the ground, sat in silence. 

“Are your thoughts far away, Miss Boynton?” in- 
quired he. Not receiving any answer, he continued. 
“Will you grant me one request? Will you give me 
one small flower?” touching a lily of the valley fastened 
on the bodice of her dress; “just a little souvenir of the 
most pleasant evening I ever spent?” 

She hesitated a moment, then slowly drew a single 
flower from the bunch and passed it to him without 
uttering a word. 

Carl’s face flushed as he took it, and he simply said, 
“I thank you.” 

“It is growing late. I am anxious to get home 
to my mamma; I will go and find my brother,” said 
Beatrix. 

“I have been so well entertained that I had no idea 
of the lateness of the hour. If agreeable I will accom- 
pany you home.” 

“No, thanks. I will not intrude on you, as I have 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


43 


Joe with me, and it is only a few steps from here,” she 
answered. 

“Yes, Mr. Clayton, do come with us,” Joe said, as 
he heard the last remark. “You will be more of a pro- 
tection than I am, for my sister is so timid I really 
think she is looking forward to being swallowed up by 
some unknown object.” 

“What truants you are,” said Mrs. Baxter, as she 
met them at the door. “The men are all raving about 
you, dear,” giving Beatrix a gentle hug and kiss. 
“Good-night, come over and see me very often,” said 
she as they parted. 

Carl walked with her and her brother Joe to the gate, 
silent and thoughtful. 


44 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER V. 

Joe had now entirely recovered from his sprain, and 
was ready for more sport as he termed it. As he was 
walking home about dark one evening, he saw a goat 
grazing by the wayside. “How I’ll have a little fun 
with Biddy, the cook,” he said to himself. By caress- 
ing, coaxing, and half -carrying, he managed to get it 
up two flights of stairs to her room, which was but a 
small one. It was after 11 o’clock when Bridget pre- 
pared to go to bed. Everything was still outside; the 
village was serene, peaceful and quiet, not a sound 
could be heard. Mrs. Boynton, not being well, had 
gone to bed early, as was her custom. 

“Let me read to you awhile, Trix. I am not sleepy, 
and do not care to go to bed yet,” said Joe, laughing, 
thinking of the trouble Biddy would have to get the 
goat downstairs. 

“You seem to have something very amusing on your 
mind, and are in a very entertaining mood for you, 
considering the lateness of the hour,” replied Beatrix, 
with a little short laugh. She seated herself beside him 
and listened quietly while he was reading. 

As Biddy opened the door of her room, she could not 
see anything — all was darkness within. The goat sprang 
at her and butted her directly in the stomach, and 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


45 


down she went sprawling full length on the floor in the 
hallway. 

“Oh! spare me life, take all me belongin’s, but spare 
me life. Plaze, plaze, Mr. Burglar, let a poor girrl 
live,” humbly pleaded Biddy, as she scrambled to her 
feet and ran downstairs, screaming at every step at the 
top of her voice, “murder, police, burglars, robbers in 
the house, robbers in the house!” 

“Don’t let them come in here! Don’t let them in 
here!” shrieked Mrs. Boynton, in anguish, as she 
jumped out of bed quickly to shut and lock the door 
that Joe had purposely left open, anticipating a very 
jovial time. 

Biddy kept running on her way out into the street, 
screaming loudly all the time, “Police! police! mur- 
der! murder!” 

Beatrix bounded up from her chair, suddenly opened 
her window, thrust her head out and joined her voice 
with Bridget’s in screaming, “Police!” 

“Great goodness, don’t yell like that, Trix; for 
heaven’s sake, don’t,” said Joe in terror, pulling her 
back by the dress; “you’ll have all the neighbors here.” 

“That is just what I want to do. We need all the 
assistance we can get. Do let my dress alone,” said 
she, pulling her dress away and trembling from head to 
foot. “I do wish you would shout for me, your voice 
is so much stronger than mine.” 

“I don’t want to shout. Biddy is a fool to make 
such a fuss. Let me go after her. I can soon pacify 
her, I know I can,” said Joe anxiously. Everything 


46 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


was in commotion and confusion in the house as well 
as out. 

“Stop, Joe; you must not go out into the hall, it is 
not safe; the robber may kill you. I have always 
heard they are very powerful men,” said Beatrix 
breathlessly, snatching the key from the door and hid- 
ing it. By this time Joe was thoroughly frightened, 
seeing the fearful excitement in the street. The result 
was so different from what he had expected that the 
thought of fun had fully vanished. The voice of the 
small boy rose simultaneously with that of the men and 
ruffians. Biddy was in the middle of the street gestic- 
ulating wildly.” Go away with yez,” she said to a 
strange man. “Does yer think the likes of me would 
lie? Didn’t I tell yer he was a great big man and 
pounded me right here in the stomach and tried to kill 
me and gave me a terrible palpitation at me heart?” 

“But do you not think you could be mistaken?” said 
the stranger. 

“Indade, no, sor. A girrl that’s traveled around as 
much as meself knows a robber when he gets at her and 
tries to thump her to death, I’ll let you know, and didn’t 
I see the big eyes of him even in the dark,” said Biddy, 
rolling up her eyes as though she was in a fit, and with 
a decided nod at the man. 

In a few moments two big policemen came running 
rapidly up to the house with pistols and clubs. They 
tiptoed up the stairs, softly opened the door, and a loud 
report of a pistol was heard. 

“They have caught the burglar,” said Beatrix ex- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


47 


citedly; “they have caught him; how fortunate. I am 
so glad there was no chance of his escaping, too many 
people around ; we saved our lives by simply making a 
noise. Hear that; they have shot him twice.” 

Joe gave a nervous start and winked his eyes at hear- 
ing the shot. He felt as though it ought to have hit 
him, but he was really afraid to make any explanation 
now, after it had gone so far, while there were so many 
around. 

“They must have wounded him at least,” said Bea- 
trix, with a shudder. 

“Oh!” groaned Joe. “I hope he is not hurt.” 

“Do you mean you hope the policemen are not hurt?” 
inquired Beatrix, still trembling violently. 

“No! no! no! he couldn’t hurt the policemen,” 
moaned Joe. 

“I do not care if the burglar is hurt, prowling around 
in other people’s houses. They may have killed him, 
I shouldn’t wonder if they had,” said she. 

“I do hope they haven’t killed him,” said Joe sadly. 
“Poor little fellow, I am so sorry.” 

“I do hope you are not in sympathy with horrid rob- 
bers. Indeed, you cannot be,” said Beatrix, with tears 
in her eyes. “You say, ‘poor little fellow.’ I did not 
think you were so bad; it almost breaks my heart to 
think of it. I would not let mamma know that for the 
world. A man that breaks into houses at night, and 
sometimes murders the inmates.” 

“He didn’t break in,” again groaned Joe. “He is a 
dear, sweet little creature.” 


48 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You call a bad, vicious robber a dear, sweet creat- 
ure. It distresses me to bear you talk. I think you 
must be crazy to try to make me think a wicked burglar 
is such a lovable person. Here they are bringing him 
down. I can hear them. He must be a very heavy 
man,” said Beatrix, in a quivering voice. “They must 
have hurt him badly if they didn’t kill him.” 

“Oh, dear; oh, dear,” said Joe, at this dismal intel- 
ligence, and quietly slipped into his room, quickly 
removed his clothes, and into his bed he went and 
covered himself all over with the bedclothes, head and 
all, and uttered a final dismal, “oh!” 

“Here is the burglar,” said the policeman, laughing, 
as he came downstairs with the goat under his arm, 
kicking violently, very much frightened, but unhurt. 
Beatrix went to Joe’s room, looked in and heard him 
breathing heavily with his head covered. She thought 
he was sound asleep and would not disturb him, although 
it was all assumed. The house soon resumed its usual 
quietude. 

“I am tired of the seaside,” said Joe the next day. 
“A boy cannot have any fun at all without everybody 
runs and looks at him as though he was a curiosity.” 

“It would be delightful to go up to the White Moun- 
tains, do you not think so?” said Beatrix. 

“No. I will not go up there among those barbarians. 
You cannot go out on the street without falling over 
cabbages and almost breaking your neck, and the 
snakes run all over you at night when you are quietly 
sleeping.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


49 


“You meet very charming people there. You are 
mistaken. If you remember, I was there a few years 
ago,” replied Beatrix. 

“There are a lot of wild animals there, too,” said 
Joe. 

“Wild animals?” said Beatrix, looking at him in- 
quiringly. 

“Bears, bears. You have to climb the tallest tree 
and sit there all day for fear a black bear will hug you 
to death and make a meal out of your young, tender 
flesh. No, you need not suggest any such place to me.” 

“You never have been there, Joe, or you would have 
a different opinion. The scenery is magnificent ; the 
air is delicious ; it seems to be perfumed with new- 
mown ha} r ; and it would be a nice place to sketch.” 

“Sketch? What would you sketch, a lot of angle 
worms and frogs that croak all night and keep a fellow 
awake? Perhaps you would like to sketch your brother 
Joe disappearing down a bear’s throat. No, my cot- 
tage by the sea is preferable to that place,” said Joe in 
disgust. 

“You know but little about your early history and 
have traveled but little if you think that about the beau- 
tiful States of New Hampshire and Vermont, and I 
think mamma ought to have a change, she looks so 
tired, so weary. I am so distressed about her; the 
doctor says she has had some terrible mental trouble. 
What should we do without our dear mamma?” said 
Beatrix tearfully. 

Joe looked at her iu wonder as though the thought 


50 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


had never occurred to him. “He didn’t say she was 
going to die, did he?” inquired he. 

“He did not tell me she would die at present, neither 
did he suggest a change. It occurred to me that it 
might do her good. The doctor said she must not have 
the least thing to vex or perplex her, and she was very 
much frightened last night, and was in a very nervous 
state.” 

“I am so sorry, sweet sister, if I distressed her,” 
answered Joe, putting his arms around her neck and 
kissing her affectionately. “I must be willing to go 
anywhere if best for mamma, and will try and be good 
and never make her any more trouble. 





i 

? 


1 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


51 


CHAPTER VI. 

As Beatrix stood in the bay window one morning and 
saw a fierce storm raging without, dashing, roaring 
like an infuriated beast, the thought came to her: 
“Was it more violent than the beating of her own sad 
heart? But as she saw the glistening, sparkling water 
in all its splendor and grandeur, how could she doubt 
that there was a God who ruled our destiny? 

“Are you ready fora drive? Joe said to her two days 
later. “We will go the fashionable road to see Mrs. 
Clayton arrayed in her beautiful costumes and in her 
splendid turnout. They astonish the natives with their 
elegance. You like her very much, do you not, Trix?” 

“Very much, indeed. I think her very charming. 
She received me with so much ease and grace, and 
made me feel perfectly at home, and addressed me so 
kindly when I was so much embarrassed after singing 
at her house. I suppose that well-bred ease only a 
woman of society and the world can acquire; but it is 
delightful to meet with such people, and then she enter- 
tains so lavishly.” 

“Here they come,” said Joe, after they had driven 
a short distance. “I can hear the clanking of the 
heavy chains,” and as they looked they saw her 
glossy black prancing steeds, collared in white, 


52 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


approaching, with their heads decorated with purple 
violets, with livered coachman and footman, and 
the silver chains glistening, glittering in the sun as 
they advanced. Mrs. Clayton was alone, and amid the 
softness of the dark purple cushion of the carriage she 
was reclining. As she passed, Beatrix smiled and 
made a low, respectful bow ; but Mrs. Clayton moved 
her head so slightly and looked at her with such a cold, 
scornful expression she could not tell whether she bowed 
or not. 

“Did you see her bow, Joe? Do you think she in- 
tended to slight me? I do not think she responded. I 
do not understand it. I do hope I have not displeased 
her,” said Beatrix dubiously. 

“I did not notice,” replied Joe carelessly. 

“What could I have done? I am at a loss to know. 
It really makes me unhappy. Perhaps I have made a 
blunder as to the rule of etiquette. If so I would wil- 
lingly go and request her pardon.” 

“Do not allow that to disturb you, Beatrix. Mrs. 
Clayton may have been afraid of disarranging her 
beautiful false curls, so carefully placed in line upon 
her forehead. It is a matter of indifference to me 
whether she bows or not. I shall not lose much sleep 
over it,” declared Joe. 

A short distance farther they met Miss Baxter and 
Mr. Clayton riding together. Carl sat well elevated 
in a handsome cart, irreproachably dressed as always, 
driving a pair of splendid bays. They both bowed, 
Maud smiling pleasantly and waving her hand. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


53 


c ‘Clayton has the nobbiest trap out, Trix. Do you not 
think so?” said Joe. 

“Yes,” she replied thoughtfully. She bent her head 
deep in thought. She felt grieved, disturbed. She 
must somehow have offended Mrs. Clayton. She won- 
dered and pondered what she could have done. Beatrix 
Boynton had never given matrimony a thought. 
Though gifted with great beauty, she was as ignorant 
of coquetry as a child. She had lived quietly, been 
educated at home, and had given so much time to her 
mother and brother that her thoughts were engrossed 
in them. That was her little world. After returning 
home, she walked alone to the beach to think of the 
past few weeks, so vivid and fresh in her mind. It was 
late in the afternoon ; the beach looked quite desolate. 
There were only a few lone fishermen, toiling away to 
earn what little they could from day to day. The 
thought came to her as she seated herself quietly on the 
rude rough bench: “Are they not happier than I, who 
have a cloud on my name, not from any misdeed of my 
own, but through the sin of another who ought to be 
my guide and protector? Why should I suffer for the 
sins and follies of others? I have never designedly 
wronged any one, but think I have done my duty to 
God and man, at least as far as I know how. Why 
should the innocent be punished?” She rebelled against 
the man who so cruelly had wronged her good, kind 
mother and caused so much suffering. So absorbed in 
thought was she that minutes, an hour, passed, and still 
she sat motionless, unconscious of being watched. 


54 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Round a curve a yacht was slowly, gliding, and loi- 
tered near the ocean side. A man stood gazing long at 
the figure on the bench. He stepped lightly on shore, 
and moved softly toward her. 

“Miss Boynton.” 

She started at the mention of her name as it re- 
sounded through the stillness, like a criminal who is 
being pursued for justice. 

“Pardon me. I did not intend to startle you,” Mr. 
Clayton said. “I have been fully an hour watching 
you. I cannot tell you how much you interest me. 
You are so young, and yet you seek solitude. I have 
been a patient watcher for some days past, hoping to 
find you here as I have something to say to you. ” Seat- 
ing himself beside her, and taking the little faded lily 
of the valley from beneath his coat that she had given 
him nearly two weeks previous, he said: “Do you re- 
member this? I have treasured these few faded leaves 
as a little memento coming from the fairest of women.” 

She uplifted her eyes to his, dropped them, looked at 
the flower, but still was silent. 

“You must be very fond of the ocean. I have often 
seen you alone here. Have you ever taken a trip 
abroad?” inquired he kindly. 

“Never,” she answered, in a low, musical voice. 

“Do you think you would enjoy a trip across?” ques- 
tioned Carl. 

She smiled faintly. “I think I should enjoy it very 
much if mamma and my brother could go. It might 
benefit mamma to take a long sail on the ocean. I 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


55 


should have to consult a physician first before going.” 
Then turning to him, she said: “I have been informed 
that you go to Europe in the autumn.” 

“That has been our intention,” replied he. 

Carl looked silently at her for a few moments. They 
were all alone, and he had watched and waited for 
many days for this chance to occur. Only the seagulls 
could be seen that flew noiselessly above their heads. 

“I wish I could divine your thoughts, Beatrix, or 
share a small portion of them,” he said, in a low, 
pathetic tone as she sat with her head bent, looking 
thoughtfully on the ground. 

“I was thinking how far it was to Europe. I have 
traveled so ljttle that it appears a very long distance to 
me to cross the ocean ; it almost seems as though it was 
the emblem of separation,” she answered, as she care- 
lessly twisted the silk in the tassel of her cloak. 

“True; the ocean separates countries, but it does not 
kill affection, ” in a still lower tone he answered. “I 
have crossed many times in many ways, and I cannot 
tell which I prefer.” 

“I may never go,” she replied doubtfully. 

“Would you regret or miss me should I leave?” in- 
quired Carl. 

“Oh! very much. I am sure I should,” she said 
with candor. 

“I think of you very often, Beatrix. I think I could 
be very happy if I could always have you by my side.” 

Her head was drooped, her face was very thought- 
ful, but she made him no answer. 




THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Do you not think you could be happy with me?” 
inquired he, moving still closer, and gently taking her 
hand. 

A deep blush suffused her face, and she looked up at 
him in surprise and amazement, as though she did not 
quite comprehend. 

“I have loved you from the first night I saw you. I 
think I should be wretched without you. You are 
daily, hourly in my thoughts.” 

“Are you not to marry Miss Baxter? I have been 
told so,” said Beatrix very softly. 

“No, Beatrix, I shall never marry any one but you.” 

Carl, seeing her em barrassment, continued : “Maud 
Baxter’s family have been intimate friends of my 
mother’s for many years; my mother is very fond 
of her, and she is a very nice girl in her way. Her 
parents, as well as my mother, are very anxious to 
make a match for us, but I do not desire any one to 
select a life companion for me. I shall follow the dic- 
tates of my own heart. Maud seems very well con- 
tented here, and I am rather surprised, as she had 
formed an attachment for a young man she met in Paris 
whom I have never seen. Her parents sent her here 
hoping to break it off, and I think they have suc- 
ceeded.” 

“I have heard that she was here last year,” said 
Beatrix endeavoring to draw the conversation from her- 
self. 

“She visited some friends here last summer, and 
liked it so much that she prevailed upon my mother to 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


57 


eome this year, and she has brought pleasure to my life; 
for if it were not for Maud, I should never have known 
you, but allow me to talk about you, Beatrix ; you do 
not seem quite contented.’ * 

“Contented?” she echoed softly. 

“If there is any deep sorrow overhanging your young 
life, let mo lighten the burden by sharing it with you,” 
said Carl, looking with an eager, loving glance down 
into her sweet face. 

Tears started to her eyes, as she turned her head 
away to avoid his glance, and answered: “Oh! no, no, 
do not ask me. I do not know as I have any. ’ ’ 

“I sincerely hope not, but sometimes our sorrow, our 
afflictions, can be alleviated by having sympathy. I 
shall strive to drive away all sorrow and to make your 
life happy; your pleasure shall be my pleasure,” he 
said, in mild reply, as he still retained possession of her 
hand. “Although I should consider it a privilege to 
be let into your confidence,” he added, “yet as it seems 
against your inclination, I shall not insist, but if you 
will express to me any desire, any wish, it will give me 
pleasure to grant it. Can you not tell me what you 
desire most, Beatrix?” 

Beatrix was silent a moment; she was half -fright- 
ened ; it was unexpected. She did not know how to 
answer. 

“Can you not tell me, Beatrix?” he again repeated. 

“I can only be a friend,” she slowly and sadly an- 
swered. Carl looked at her half -smiling, as he thought 
she could not have understood him. 


ax 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You evidently think lam jesting. I am quit® in 
earnest. I love you, Beatrix. This is the first time I 
have ever made such a declaration to any woman. Do 
not doubt me. Do you not think I love you?” he ques- 
tioned in a low, earnest tone. 

“I cannot say more. I do not know how I can,” she 
answered, in an almost inaudible voice. Carl looked 
at her in amazement, he could not comprehend how any 
one could reject him. The thought of a refusal had 
never occurred to him. 

“You must think this is mere pretence on my part. 
I sincerely love you, and will make you my wife. Do 
you understand me?” looking at her with keen scrutiny. 

“I am sure I understand. I cannot marry you,” she 
softly answered. There were tears in her eyes, in her 
voice, as she said these words. 

“I cannot comprehend what it all means. You must 
have a good reason. Have you made a former promise 
that you feel in duty bound to keep?” questioned Carl. 

She made him no answer to this question, but sat 
silently gazing at the ground beneath her. 

“There must be some very good cause for your re- 
fusal. Does M. La Bau stand in the way?” he in- 
quired. 

“I have only seen him a few times, and know him 
but slightly,” she replied. “You have known him a 
long time, I believe.” 

“No, I have only known him a few months, only 
since I came here. Maud introduced him into our 
family. I think she must have become acquainted with 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


59 


him in New York, as he seems to be an old acquaint- 
ance. I do not take interest enough in him to talk 
about him. Did I hear you aright, Beatrix? I am in 
no mood to be trifled with,” he said gravely, as if in 
doubt yet. 

Beatrix evaded an answer. “It is growing quite 
late, Mr. Clayton. I fear mamma will be very anxious 
about me. I must go home at once, as it is nearly 7 
o’clock.” 

“I was not aware it was so late. Darkness is nearly 
upon us, and you have not had your dinner yet. I was 
thoughtless. Time has passed very swiftly,” Carl said 
dubiously. They walked silently to the house, Carl 
looking at her continuously, with a perplexed, puzzled 
expression on his face. “Must I take no for a final 
answer?” persisted he, as he took her hand to bid her 
good-night, still looking intently at her, as if to read 
her inner thoughts. 

“It must be no,” she answered, in a tremulous voice, 
and a long-drawn sigh unconsciously escaped her lips. 

“You are greatly agitated. Why so much emotion?’ 4 
said Carl coldly, as he held her trembling hand. Bea- 
trix broke away from him, ran into the house, stole 
quietly up to her room, and throwing herself on the 
bed, burst into tears. Burning, scorching tears rolled 
down her cheeks. It was a relief to her sad, aching 
heart. She lay there for hours, and at last fell quietly 
asleep. When she awoke it was near dawn. She 
thought it all over, what had passed in those few brief 
hours, and she had lost him ; [one whom the world hp 1 


60 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


courted and flattered, whom mercenary mammas had 
tried in vain to captivate for their daughters. It all 
seemed so strange to her. “I will avoid him. I will 
try and never again see him ; for if I should accept 
him, I should have to tell him all my family history. 
It would only be a just question for him to ask, but 
what can I tell? If I should not say anything, then he 
might think it is worse than it is, and if I tell him 
there is a mystery about my father he surely would 
break away and leave me, and that would be so morti- 
fying. No, better as it is. I did not think he would 
ask me to marry him,” she murmured as she walked 
wearily to the window and looked out. 

The sun had just risen, pouring a flood of glorious 
light over the placid ocean, which was as calm as a 
river this warm J uly morning. She sat there for nearly 
two hours, thinking and watching the peaceful waters. 
“Oh! how much that was beautiful in life. Why 
should she fret her young life away? Why did not her 
mother make a confidante of her, and let her share her 
grief with her? But, no; that was not her mother’s 
nature to tax any one with her afflictions. She would 
suffer alone in silence. If I could only know about the 
absent,” she almost moaned. She at last slowly arose 
and descended to the breakfast room with a sad heart. 

“Beatrix, dear, you look pale, fatigued,” her mother 
said as she entered the room. “I hope you are not ill.” 

“No, mamma, dear, I am not ill. I feel slightly 
tired. I did not rest well last night. My fatigue, I 
think will soon pass away,” she replied languidly. 


That other woman. 


61 


“My dear, I waited for you a long time last evening. 
I did not know what had become of you. I went to 
your room and found you sleeping before undressing 
long after midnight.” 

Beatrix smiled faintly, and simply nodded her head. 

“Mrs. Clayton and her handsome son are the talk of 
the town with their brilliant receptions and gorgeous 
turnouts. They put our one-horse chaise all in the 
shade,” remarked Joe. 

Mrs. Boynton kept a coachman and one horse, which 
they used in a coupe , and Joe had a village cart which 
they sometimes drove out in. 

“Clayton is one of the most charming, courteous men 
I have ever met. I admire him greatly, and he is cer- 
tainly very handsome. Do you not think so, Trix?” 
said Joe. 

“Yes,” she softly murmured. 


62 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Carl Clayton went home and thought it all over, 
and the more he thought the more perplexed he was, 
and the less he understood it. The possibility of being 
rejected he had never thought of. He had always 
thought and been taught that the offer of his hand 
would be received by any one with the greatest gratifi- 
cation. He was not egotistical, but he had been flat- 
tered, adored and idolized by all women, and he knew 
that he had everything to give in return. He did not 
think that any living woman would refuse him, and 
this one particularly, who had little of this world’s 
goods, comparatively, and was leading such a simple 
life, her parents neither giving her position nor wealth, 
while he had everything to give her. The only way he 
could explain it was that there was some one else she 
loved. “I cannot think of anything else but that 
lovely girl. Can I have been mistaken in her? Am I 
merely a toy, a plaything in her hands? If it is affec- 
tation, she is the most finished coquette I ever met, but 
this is the last opportunity she will have to display her 
art with me. Her visits to the beach may be to meet 
some one. I will wait and watch for her to-morrow at 
the time I usually see her there,” he said in thought. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


63 


H® paced up and down the long rooms for many hours, 
but could not unravel the enigma. 

His mother’s watchful eye had detected that he was 
disturbed, displeased. “There is something wrong,” 
she thought, “and I think lean understand it,” as a 
happy look passed over her face. “He has offered him- 
self and is tired of her already, and he does not know 
how to get disentangled. He is so honorable he will 
think he must marry her after making her a promise. 

I knew it would be that way. He ought to have 
known better in the first instance. No man wants to 
marry into such a family after serious reflections. I 
will find a way to help him out. I should not hesitate 
for one moment to go and tell her to her face just what 
my opinion is. What right has such an impostor to 
force my son to keep a promise without his knowing 
something about the family?” 

“You look depressed, sad, Carl. Have you altered 
your mind? you surely have a perfect right to do so. 

I am glad if your eyes are opened at last, and you 
think this fair flower will not suit you. Leave her to 
me, I will devise a way out of it. A person has the 
privilege of repenting what is said in haste. A love so 
hasty soon cools. It is so humiliating to be thrown in A 
with that class of people. When you once get in with 
them, it is almost impossible to shake them off.” 

Carl stopped, turned abruptly. “I do not think you 
understand, mother,” he said. 

“I was thinking that you did not care so much for 
this lily of the valley,” taking the little faded, dried 


64 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


flower up from the floor, where he had unconsciously 
dropped it. 

He held his hand out for it. “Yes, I care for it, it is 
the only little remembrance I have, the only thing she 
ever gave me,” he sadly answered. 

“Are you really going to marry her then?” his 
mother inquired, looking anxiously at him. 

“No.” 

“I am very glad you have so decided. I thought in 
time that your own sense and discretion would see that 
it was a foolish infatuation,” she answered. 

Carl looked earnestly at her for a moment, as though 
in deep thought, and finally said : 

“She has refused me, mother.” 

“What? refused you — you — refu — ” hesitating a 
moment. “What did you say, Carl?” looking stunned 
and amazed. 

“Yes, she has rejected me.” 

“What do you mean, Carl, by'talking in that manner? 
Are you in your right mind? I shall soon be con- 
vinced that you are a lunatic,” said Mrs. Clayton, 
looking at him with wide-open eyes. 

“Yes, mother, Beatrix Boynton positively refused to 
marry me,” he slowly repeated. 

“She must bean idiot, Carl. Of all things in the 
world I should not care to have an idiot brought into 
the family. I thought she was devoid of any sense. 
I should have thought you would have known she was 
a fool to look at her. Her father may be in an idiotic 
aslyum, or he may be a natural- born murderer, and 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


65 


confined in prison for life. Children inherit their 
father’s propensities often. She might come here and 
dispose of the whole family. That would almost be 
an extinction of our race, as you know you are the only 
Carl Clayton living. Of course, if you had a family, 
one member of it would inherit your name. Great 
heavens! how much you have escaped,” said Mrs. 
Clayton indignantly. “I should not be surprised, 
Carl, at anything I might learn 'of them. She may 
not have any more sense than to be in love with a poor 
fisherman. I often see her strolling down on the beach 
all alone, as though watching for some one.” 

“I often see her there myself. It may be she is is 
watching for some one to return from an ocean trip, but 
I hardly think that. I confess I am completely puz- 
zled. I cannot think it out, ” replied Carl dubiously. 

“You could not expect she would appreciate you. 
She has never been out of her own secluded chimney 
comer,” said Mrs. Clayton in disgust. 

“You have traveled much and have seen many culti- 
vated, accomplished, beautiful women, and to come 
here in this small, quiet place and take up with such a 
little simpleton. It is really unaccountable. ” 

“I have seen many great beauties under the suns of 
many countries in many kinds of society, but I have 
never met any one who suited my imagination as Bea- 
trix Boynton does, although I have seen many as beau- 
tiful; but it was her sweet simplicity, her artlessness, 
as I thought. Could I have been deceived after my ex- 
perience? Could it be possible?” said Carl doubtfully. 


66 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“There is not a doubt in my mind that you have been 
deceived in her; those simple, artless ways were all 
assumed. Do not brood so much over it, Carl. I am 
afraid you will do something rash, or make yourself 
sick,” said his mother. 

“Do not be alarmed, mother. I shall not get sick nor 
throw myself into the ocean to drown for any woman. 
Such a weakness I could not tolerate. I am greatly 
disappointed, I admit.” 

“Now, I suppose you will marry Maud. She is best 
suited to you in every way; she is of good family, and 
also is rich, and such a sweet, lovable girl, and we 
know all about her origin. I detest that sort of people 
that have a mystery about their birth.” 

“No, I shall never marry any one,” replied Carl. 

“I think you will soon overcome this unfortunate 
fancy and forget her when once away from here. See 
how happy our dear little Maud is, she seems to have 
forgotten all about her love affair in New York. A 
change of place, of surroundings, of scene, and in a 
few weeks she will pass from your mind and you will 
forget that she ever existed.” 

“I do not think I can forget her so readily. I may. 
I shall try,” answered Carl dubiously . 

“You think that now, but I am almost positive you 
will. I am perfectly disgusted with this forsaken, 
desolate, lonely place. I am only sorry I was ever per- 
suaded to come here. I have not had anything but 
trouble since I came. I am going to pack up at once 
and go to our home in Newport,” said Mrs. Clayton. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


67 


Carl was restless, unhappy. He felt the bitter pangs 
of jealousy ; he thought there must be some one else 
who had supplanted him in her affection. “But who 
could it be? Could it be M. La Bau? I think it must 
be. I despise him. I cannot seem to get her out of 
my mind, however hard I strive to do so,” so he mused. 

The next day Carl started alone to the beach; he 
stood for a few moments looking out on the ocean. He 
could see at a short distance out the trim white sails of 
the small vessels and yachts sailing with parties of 
merrymakers or visitors from the heated city, who 
were enjoying the exhilaration of a sea breeze. He had 
only stood there a few moments before he saw the 
figure of a woman emerge from a house. He noise- 
lessly, stealthily, went to a huge tent, and secreted him- 
self behind it. She walked on and on with a quick, 
elastic step toward the beach, almosfrtouching him with 
her dress as she passed, which made his heart throb as 
he stood breathlessly looking at her. He could not 
mistake her. He had seen her only yesterday in the 
same garb. She wore the same long, drab cloak hang- 
ing gracefully from her shapely shoulders, and she was 
carelessly twisting around her finger as she walked the 
tassel that loosely fastened her garment at the neck. 
She walked to the edge of the water, gazed over the 
azure blue of the sea for a moment, then dropped her 
glance and stood for nearly ten minutes almost motion- 
less, looking thoughtfully down at the sand beneath 
her. She then turned, looked all around, and softly 
wended her way along the moss-covered walk, and 


6 $ 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


quietly seating herself on the same seat where he had 
found her the day previous, rested her hand on her 
cheek in the same position, and sat there as if in deep 
thought. 

Carl quietly watched her for awhile, then moved a 
few steps as if to speak, so strong was his desire once 
more to be near her and clasp her hand. Beatrix 
jumped to her feet, looked around, listened intently at 
hearing the sound his movement had made, and walked 
rapidly back to the house. As she passed him closely, 
he heard her softly murmur, “Love is true.” 

“What did she mean? Had Beatrix Boynton waited 
anxiously for some one who did not come? She must be 
in love. I do not see how I can doubt it, but with whom 
I de not know. She certainly looked unhappy, disap- 
pointed. I have never seen her in conversation with 
any gentleman, but I have often seen M. La Bau in 
close conversation with her brother. There must be 
some good reason for his choosing him for a companion. 
I hate the man for intruding on my path. I can well 
understand it all now. That is why he tried to put a 
stumbling block in my way by relating to my mother 
the family afflictions.” 

All these conflicting emotions passed through Carl’s 
mind as he walked slowly back to the house. He 
found his mother giving orders preparatory to leaving. 

“I shall be ready to leave very soon, Carl,” she said 
to him, “and I know you will be glad to get out of this 
hateful place. It is very unfortunate that we ever 
came here. I fear I shall always regret it.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


69 


‘ 1 It is a pleasant little town. I do not know as I 
•hall find any more happiness in any other place,” he 
replied pettishly. 

“There is not anything that seems to please or satisfy 
you lately. Yet there is not a thing on earth but that 
you can have if you want it,” said his mother. 

“I am not so certain of that. I seem to be unable to 
gain this last wish,” he answered petulantly. 

“I would not think any more about that little idiot. 
I do not think she is worth a moment’s thought, it only 
makes you irritable. You treat M. La Bau in the rud- 
est manner. I do not understand why you should. 
Maud said he felt very much distressed about it. You 
really seem unlike yourself, Carl. ’ ’ 

“La Bau is a dastardly coward to attack any young 
lady as he did Miss Boynton, and I should defend any 
one under like circumstances, and especially one whom 
I did esteem as highly as I did her.” 

“I think she is perfectly heartless and perfectly fool- 
ish. The girl doesn’t seem to have sense enough to 
know when she has a good offer. It is a very fortunate 
thing for you that she did not appreciate the situation, 
if you will only take a serious view of it, and think of 
something else besides her pretty face,” said Mrs. Clay- 
ton disdainfully. 

“Mother, you are cruel,” he said, almost harshly. 
“I shall not condemn her because she has rejected me. 
She may have had a very good reason. We cannot 
agree in regard to her, and I am in no mood for talking 
further on the subject.” 


70 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You will go away with me, will you not?” said 
Mrs. Clayton, as though somewhat in doubt. 

“I will go willingly,” he answered calmly. 

All was hustle and confusion for a few days at the 
cottage, and then Mrs. Clayton and family left for their 
Newport home. All the fashionable people soon fol- 
lowed them, as they had been the leaders of fashion, 
and had lent gayety to the place during the season, and 
everything was quiet again in the little seaport town. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


71 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Summer was fast ebbing away, October was near. 
Mrs. Boynton and family were leaving for their town 
house. This was a four story brownstone front, facing 
the Public Garden, in the beautiful, stately and aris- 
tocratic city of Boston. It was tastefully and prettily 
furnished in red and gold, with a few old paintings of 
celebrated artists. As Beatrix entered her comfortable 
and pleasant home in one of the fashionable streets, and 
saw multitudes of well-dressed people and gorgeous 
equipages passing to and fro, with gayly dressed ladies 
laughing and chatting, seemingly so happy, she 
thought of her own hidden secret, her sorrow, and won- 
dered why she should suffer for the guilt of another. 
A weight of pain was in her heart ; she thought the 
country so much more soothing, sweeter, more natural. 
But Joe must return to his studies, his mother had said. 
Then she fell to thinking of others she had seen on the 
street that day hurrying hither and thither, who looked 
so destitute, so poorly clad, as though they had not the 
necessary things of life, and of her poor, patient, long- 
suffering mamma. 

4 ‘Why should I complain?” she murmured. As she 
went to sleep she offered up a prayer for her who had 


72 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


suffered so patiently for so many long, weary years. 
Two months flew speedily by. Christmas was near. 

“I will give you money and you can buy your own 
holiday gifts, then you will be well satisfied,” said Mrs. 
Boynton to Joe. 

The day after Joe came upstairs and said: “It did 
not take me long to select my present, Trix. I have 
bought it and put it in the backyard below. Won’t 
you take a look at it and tell me what you think of it?” 

Beatrix, looking down into the yard, saw a large Irish 
setter. “What a beautiful dog,” she exclaimed. 
“Have you named it?” 

“It was already named Hector. Do you not think 
that a pretty name enough?” 

“Very pretty, indeed. I like it very much,” replied 
Beatrix. “But you will have to send it to the country; 
it has so little room here.” 

“That is true, poor dog,” said Joe sympathetically. 
“He does not have room to wag his tail properly. 
Never mind; we will take him away next summer, for 
his health to the seaside, and plunge him in the salt 
water to straighten out his cramped limbs.” 

At nightfall on Christmas evening a box came by ex- 
press addressed to Mrs. Boynton. She took it, held it 
in her hands for some moments, looking thoughtfully 
at the handwriting before untying the cord that fas- 
tened it. 

“Who is it for? Please open it, mamma. I am so 
anxious to see what it contains, ” cried Joe impatiently. 

“In a moment, my dear,” she replied, as ihe drew 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


n 


her hand gently across her forehead. She slowly untied 
the string, opened the box and found therein three beau- 
tiful red plush boxes of jewelry. In one was a dia- 
mond horseshoe-shaped brooch for Mrs. Boynton; in 
another a pear-shaped ring, with a garnet center sur- 
rounded by two rows of small diamonds, having a plain 
card attached, simply marked, “To Beatrix.’ ’ The 
third contained a gold watch and chain for Joe, marked 
similarly. 

Mrs. Boynton hastily tore the card from the brooch, 
which contained some writing, and shivering it into 
small pieces, threw it into the grate, and eagerly 
watched it burn until it was consumed to nothingness. 
She silently passed the ring to Beatrix. The watch and 
chain she passed to Joe, without making any comment. 

Beatrix took the ring. It just fitted her second 
finger. “Look at it, mamma. Is it not beautiful?” 
she exclaimed, as she held her hand up before her, 
looking earnestly at her mother the while, hoping for 
some explanation. None came. 

Mrs. Boynton sadly, silently looked at the ring and 
simply nodded her head in reply. 

“This is such a beautiful and useful present, just 
what I needed and wanted,” said Joe. “Who sent 
them, mamma?” 

She looked at him with a sorrowful expression, and 
languidly answered: “I cannot tell you very much 
to-night, my dear, but hope at some future time to be 
able to make an explanation.” 

“Very well, mamma. I am very much pleased with 


74 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


my watch. It makes but little difference provided I 
succeed in getting what I want.” 

“Another mystery,” thought Beatrix. “1 do wish I 
could find out where those beautiful gifts came from. 
I am the only one that mamma can make a confidant 
of. She has few companions, and never seeks society 
nor returns calls. I will advance the subject to-night 
as soon as Joe leaves the room. I cannot endure so 
much mystery.” 

Later in the evening, Joe having bid them good- 
night and gone to bed, Beatrix timorously said: 
“Mamma, dear, I think you once told me father was 
kind to you.” 

“Yes, yes, my darling, but I cannot talk much to- 
night. I am not feeling quite well enough,” she 
almost whispered, while a look of intense pain stole 
over her gentle face. “He was good and kind,” she 
added, “and if I die and you ever see him, tell him I 
loved him to the last.” 

“Please do not talk any more, mamma,” pleaded 
Beatrix, “you look too much exhausted to exert your- 
self . Some other time will do when you feel stronger. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Boynton made no reply, but closed her eyes, 
and clasped her hands together as if in silent prayer. 

Beatrix stole softly out of the room, closing the door 
behind her, resolved never to speak his name in her 
presence again. 

“What was it?” she continually asked herself over 
and over again. She derived some comfort from those 
two words, “Good and kind.” For continual unkind- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


75 


ness and indifference will surely turn a woman’s love 
to intense hate. She could remember her mother from 
her childhood as a sad, gentle, pale, thoughtful person, 
only brightening up when she could interest or cheer 
her children. She had had some terrible sorrow she 
well knew, but what it was she was unable to learn. 

One day later, while Beatrix was sitting alone read- 
ing, Joe came in from school, sat down in a large arm- 
chair opposite her, thrust his hands into his pockets 
and commenced a low, lively whistle, resting his glance 
on the floor for a moment as if thinking. Looking up 
suddenly at her, he inquired abruptly: “Trix, where is 
our dad? Why don’t he ever come here?” 

She looked at him surprised and hesitated a moment, 
not knowing how best to answer. 

“Eh?” 

“It is the first time I ever heard you speak of him,” 
she timidly answered. 

“Well, I suppose his business keeps him in Europe, 
and as long as the governor gives us a good supply of 
money, which he seems to do, I do not know as I will 
complain. I never thought much about the old fellow 
before, but I should think he would like to see his 
promising son once in awhile. I am somebody to be 
proud of,” said Joe, laughing. 

They were then interrupted by a companion of Joe’s, 
who had come in to see the dog, which interfered with 
their conversation, much to the relief of Beatrix, as 
she was still pondering in her mind how she should 
answer. She left the room soon after Joe went out 
with his friend, to go upstairs to sit with her mother. 


76 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


She had not been long there before the cook bolted 
into the room without knocking, all out of breath, and 
her eyes were staring out of her head. 

“There has been a thief rampaging around here, 
mum,” she said, “and stole me turkey right before me 
very eyes. Yes, mum, rampaging right before me 
eyes,” she repeated. 

Mrs. Boynton looked at her in astonishment and in- 
quired: “Did you see him, Bridget?” 

“No, I did not jist see him becase I jist turned me 
eyes the other way to see if me oven was right, and 
when I turned me eyes back it was gone, mum ; yis, 
gone, mum. It was all ready to roast, mum, and indade 
it is not safe to trust meself alone there a minute. I 
niver saw such carryings on in th’ ould country. Och ! 
Och! mum,” she screamed, “Mister Joe has him now 
hauling him around by the leg of his pants. I can see 
him out the window. Indade, mum, and don’t you 
hear him thumping him?” 

Beatrix, hearing the noise and disturbance in the 
yard, also the loud barking of the dog, looked out and 
saw Joe with his companion rolling over and over on 
the ground, covered with dirt and snow, clinching, 
clutching, stratching each other desperately. She 
rushed downstairs to separate and pacify them if possi- 
ble. The boy was crying very loudly, bitterly, as 
though badly hurt. Joe’s face was very red and bleed- 
ing from scratches, but there were not any tears to be 
seen. His lips were compressed and his teeth he was 
grinding together in anger. The boy *tarted for the 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


77 


doer, as seon as released from Joe, and ran screaming 
down the steps, Joe after him, dragging him back, 
saying : 

“Stop your noise, you saucy boy. You shall not 
go out of this house until you can go peaceably without 
disturbing all the neighborhood. I tell you you shall 
not go through the streets yelping like a whipped cur. 
Now stop, or I’ll whip you again and knock you around 
so you can’t even peep.” 

The boy placed both hands hurriedly over his mouth 
to smother the noise, and meekly answered: “I will, I 
will, if you will only please let me go. Please do,” 
cried he. 

“Go along then, make tracks for home lively, and 
don’t you ever come within five miles of this house as 
long as you live,” screamed Joe, as he parted from his 
companion. 

‘ ‘ I am really afraid you have hurt him. I hope not, ’ ’ 
said Beatrix mildly. 

“I don’t hope I haven’t hurt him, I only hope I have. 
I couldn’t find anything in the kitchen to hit him with 
but a soft, smooth turkey, and I smashed it over that 
little red-headed monkey, until I smashed it into inch 
pieces. I only wish I had hurt that little insolent 
puppy as much as I did the turkey. I wish I had had 
a cargo of them. If ever I get my hands on that boy 
again I will give him another thrashing. I should 
like to thrash his father, his mother and all his family 
for being any relation to him,” cried Joe angrily, in a 
loud, excited voice. 


?8 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


‘‘You must try and control your temper and not get 
angry at trifles. What was the cause of all this 
trouble?” inquired Beatrix. 

“He was angry at something I did or said, and he 
said he would tell his father. ‘What do I care for 
your father?’ I replied, ‘I have little fear of him.’ 
Then he made grimaces at me and said with a sneer : 
‘You haven’t any father, and never did have any.’ 
That made me very angry, ^Trix. That was a great 
insult.” 

Beatrix sighed. “I admit, Joe, those were very un- 
kind, thoughtless remarks, your companion made, but 
you should have remembered that he is younger than 
you by three years, and you should have considered his 
youth, been charitable, and should not have shown your 
emotion so quickly. Of course, he ought not to have 
said it, as a child should be held blameless for his 
father’s misdeeds. You have a father, of course.” 

“Have a father?” Joe angrily retorted. “What kind 
of a man is that to have for a father that you can never 
speak his name? And you can never seem to tell me 
anything about him. There is such a thing as having 
too much of a father. That seems to be my trouble. I 
have a little too much. I think I would make away 
with what I have if I could only once get hold of him, 
but there is one thing positive, I never will have any- 
thing more to do with boys. I hate them, always did 
hate them. I am going to give up studying and go to 
work— go into some kind of business. I am old 
enough.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


79 


“I am sorry to hear you say that. I thought you 
were preparing for college. You must not let any 
trifling, childish thing interfere with any of your plans. 
A boy says many things when in anger that he never 
thinks of again,” answered Beatrix consolingly. 

“But I have decided not to goto college. I have 
other plans in my head at present,” replied Joe 
thoughtfully, “which in the future I think will be best 
for all of us.” After consulting his mother, it was de- 
cided that he could act his own pleasure about going to 
college, but that he must continue his studies for two 
years longer. 


so 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Time passed rapidly by. Joe had kept assiduously 
at his studies for two years. Now his thoughts returned 
to his purpose of obtaining a place for business, as he 
had not thought it would be a difficult task to find any- 
thing that he wished. One morning, directly after 
breakfast, he started out and was gone all day looking 
for some kind of a position, but did not succeed in find- 
ing anything that he thought would suit him. He 
started out the next day, the next, and the next, but 
without any hotter success. He had found work for a 
small boy and work for an experienced man, but many 
told him as he was inexperienced they could only give 
him a few dollars per week — a boy’s salary, until he 
should get a little insight into their business. Upon 
his returning home after many days going backward 
and forward without procuring anything, Beatrix saw 
him looking intently at himself from head to foot in one 
of the long mirrors in the parlor, as she entered the 
room. 

“ I am looking at myself, Beatrix, to see if I can dis- 
cern any great deficiency in my physical make-up,” 
said Joe, as he turned round and round several times 
before the mirror. 

“Why did you think so? I always flattered myself 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


81 


that my brother was endowed with considerable physi- 
cal beauty,” answered she smilingly. 

“I think you must be under some hallucination in 
regard to your brother, for every man where I have 
sought employment has found defects in me. I am too 
big, too little, too old or too young, or too something 
else that is quite as ridiculous. It had never occurred 
to me but that I could secure a place whenever I was 
ready to take it, and I have not been able to find any 
work anywhere yet, although I have searched diligently 
for many days. I have run across a set of old block- 
heads. I did not seem to suit any one, and have decided 
to give it up for the present at least. It is too discour- 
aging.” 

“I think I have heard that every one has the same ex- 
perience, so do not get discouraged,” said Beatrix. 

“ I think I will make a study of athletics. Do you 
remember what the clergyman said last Sunday, that 
every one had a mission on earth? Mine, I think, must 
be fighting. Yes, fighting for the rights of others,” 
said Joe, doubling up his fists and flourishing them 
around in a menacing position. “See those, Beatrix. 
Don’t those look powerful? I am going to give Joe 
Boynton, Sr., the full benefit of those in the not far 
future, and I am not sure but I shall give him a little 
taste of gunpowder.” 

“Gunpowder!” echoed Beatrix in alarm. “Oh! 
Joe, it is terrible to talk so. Do not commit any rash 
act; you might be the greatest sufferer of the two. 
You would not kill him, I hope?” 


82 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Well, no ! I would not kill him all at once. I might 
blow the top of his head off by degrees and place it 
back and blow it off several times again in small pieces. 
Instant death would be too good for him. I should 
prefer to let him linger awhile. Perhaps it would be 
worse punishment to let him go on living if he has any 
conscience at all, but I don’t think he has the^conscience 
of an ape.'* 

“I do hope you would not do anything very hasty or 
violent, as the punishment might come upon you. 
Pray, think well before you act,” pleaded Beatrix. 

“I fear I should do something very rash should I 
ever see him, and see him I will. I should like to see 
his feet touch the floor of the penitentiary, and like to 
look through the grating and jeer at him,” replied Joe, 
excited by anger. 

“We may be mistaken, :he may not be such a bad 
man as we think,” she answered, trying to quiet and 
comfort her brother. 

“I do not think we can be mistaken. To think of all 
the trouble he has made, all the mischief he has done, 
is enough to make a man want to tie a sheet around his 
neck and hang himself to the nearest bedpost for being 
any relation to him.” 

Beatrix remembered those two words her mother had 
whispered to her not long before, “Good and kind,” 
and that she still loved him. 

“I do not know as he can be as wicked as we sup- 
pose, Joe, since mamma always speaks very kindly of 
him.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


83 


“Mamma has a very forgiving nature, Beatrix, as 
well as you. She is always gentle and kind toward the 
most erring. I have not that* gentle disposition. I feel 
the most bitter, fierce hatred against the man who could 
cruelly ill-treat my mother, and I will search the world 
over until I find him, and at a not far distant day either. 
It will go hard with him when I once get my hands on 
him,” declared Joe. 

4 ‘What would you do?” she inquired, somewhat ter- 
rified. 

“What would I do?” he repeated. “I would brand 
him with the word ‘murderer’ in letters of blood and 
ride him up and down the town, and advertise him to 
the staring multitude.” 

“He has not murdered any one, has he, Joe?” 

“Yes, it is murder. I consider it as such. My 
mother is suffering that slow torture of the heart which 
is the most cruel kind of murder. I will not annoy 
mamma by asking her any questions in regard to him, 
but will investigate for myself. ’ 

“He has a very kind, gentle, even mournful expres- 
sion in his face,” said Beatrix in a low, suppressed 
tone, as though fearful of being overheard. “I have 
seen his likeness, and think I can find it to show you.” 
After a little pause, as if listening, and sure of not being 
interrupted, she secured a key, softly stole to the bureau 
drawer that her mother always kept carefully locked, 
and took from a crimson plush case a locket that con- 
tained his picture. 

“Look, Joe,” she said, holding it open before his 


84 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


face. ‘Is he not handsome? I do not think he has a 
wicked face, do you?” 

Joe looked earnestly at it for a long time and finally 
said : “Yes, yes, indeed. Of course he has a very bad, 
wicked face, an evil eye, a sinister expression about the 
mouth. He is a man you would not care to meet in a 
dark place, and I am sure it would not be safe for him 
to meet me in broad daylight.” 

Beatrix replaced the locket, locked the drawer softly, 
and went quietly to her room, as she had found little 
comfort in her brother’s remarks. She remembered 
then how her mother had cautiously entered the room 
a few days before while she was gazing at the picture, 
how she turned deadly pale and gently drew it from her 
hand, saying: “It does not belong to us.” What did 
all that mean? “My brother may be right,” thought 
she. 

In the early evening, about a fortnight later, as they 
were all sitting in the parlor one very bleak, stormy 
night, when the storm was at its height, there was a 
fierce, quick ring of the door bell and a strange voice 
inquired if Mr. Boynton lived there. The servant 
ushered into the room a small, thin, wiry man, with 
light hair and mustache, light blue eyes, and wearing 
glasses. He bowed as he entered, and directing his 
glance toward Joe, said, “My name is Hazleton. I 
have understood that you were seeking a position, Mr. 
Boynton.” 

“Yes, sir, I have been looking for one,” Joe 
responded. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


85 


The stranger bit his lips and bis eye wandered round 
at each one in the room impatiently for a few moments 
before he replied: “I have a woolen house/ * said he, 
looking earnestly at Joe, “I have heard of you, and 
think you will suit me. I will give you one hundred 
dollars a month for the present, and shall be able to ad- 
vance your wages year after year as I can advance you 
in grade. Do you think that pay will suit you? Do 
you think you would like that kind of business?’ * in- 
quired the stranger, still eying Joe intently. 

“Suit me!” Joe repeated in astonishment, looking 
curiously at the strange gentleman, “I hardly ex- 
pected so much wages at first, I am yet inexperienced. 
My only anxiety will he to suit you, but I shall endeav- 
or to do my best.” 

“I am sure you will please me, I have not the least 
doubt of it. Do not have any anxiety in regard to 
that,” responded Mr. Hazleton pleasantly, pointing his 
forefinger at Joe. 

% “When will you need my services?” Joe inquired. 

“When it is your pleasure to come. Any time that 
is the most convenient for you. Do not let me inter- 
fere with any other engagement,” said the man. 

“Let me see,” said Joe, thinking. “This is Tues- 
day. How would it do if I came next Monday? That 
will give me five days before I buckle down to busi- 
ness. Will that do?” 

“Certainly that will do. I want you to suit yourself 
in regard to the time. Then I shall expect to see you 
Monday,” said Mr. Hazleton, as he rose to leave. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


S6 

“How strange,” said Joe, after gazing silently at 
Beatrix for a few moments after Mr. Hazleton had left. 

“How strange!” reiterated Beatrix. “It all seems 
very strange to me. I cannot understand it. How 
did he know you were looking for a place? Did you 
go to his office?” 

“No, that is, one of the places I did not seek. I can- 
not understand it myself. It all seems a mystery to- 
me, unless he has seen my honest face somewhere and 
thought I was just the boy he needed,” answered Joe, 
with a little laugh. 

“Do you not think that a very good salary, since 
every one else offered you very small wages at first?” 
said Beatrix thoughtfully. 

“I am delighted with it. I seem to be in luck,” re- 
plied Joe. 

Mrs. Boynton had listened quietly to their conversa- 
tion without making any comment. 

Joe went on the following Monday as he had prom- 
ised to do, and was very much pleased with his place. 
He had very little to do, and received better pay 
than older men who had been there many years. He 
could not understand why he was treated with so much 
consideration. 

A month passed away. He received his first pay- 
ment. He took the money home, sat down in a big 
armchair and counted it over and over again. The 
more he counted it and the more he looked at it the more 
puzzled he seemed to be. He would repeatedly roll it 
up, put it in his pocket, and take it out again, and 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


87 


again count it. He did not know what he had done 
to earn it. 

“This is the first money I have ever earned, and I like 
the looks of it, Trix, but I really do not think I deserve 
it, for I do not think I have done anything to assist my 
employer. If I had worked hard and given the firm 
any assistance, then I should appreciate this money 
greatly. There is to me something very mysterious 
about it. I saw older men looking at me and whisper- 
ing, and talking in low tones to themselves, and I over- 
heard a remark that gave me the impression that my 
father had something to do with my securing the place. 
If so, I do not care for the money. I do not want it. I 
feel as though I’d like to kindle a fire with it,” said 
Joe indignantly. 

“I think it must have been through some one’s influ- 
ence,” answered Beatrix, “but I do not know how that 
is. It may be they give more to young men than older 
men.” 

Joe laughed. “You are very wise in a business way, 
Trix, but I am going to Mr. Hazleton to-morrow and 
have a talk with him. I am determined to find out all 
I can, I will put a direct question to him and I shall 
expect him to answer it accurately.” 

“Oh! I do wish you would, Joe. It would be a re- 
lief to find out something about the absent. He may 
be a friend of my fath — your — father,” she said hesitat- 
ingly. 

“I will,” he answered emphatically. “I will know 
all. I have a right to know. I will exercise all the tact 


88 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


I have to find out. I ought to know,” pounding hi§ 
hand down on the table and shaking his head in a very 
determined manner. 

“What can you ask? What can you say?” she in- 
quired excitedly. 

“I shall ask several questions. For one I shall ask 
him if he is an acquaintance of my father’s. Have 
patience until to-morrow, dear sister. I may be able to 
find out everything I desire to know ; if not I surely shall 
learn something. ’ ’ 

The next day Beatrix was all anxiety. She impa- 
tiently waited and watched the long hours away until 
dark. As she saw Joe coming toward the house, she 
rushed to the door, hurriedly opened it, and inquired 
eagerly in a low tone : 

“What did you hear, Joe? What is the news? You 
look actually savage. Has anything terrible happened V ’ 

“I am done with that place. I hate that old Hazle- 
ton; he is an old scapegrace,” he answered in a low, 
impatient tone. 

“What is it? Did you make any inquiries?” asked 
she, almost breathlessly. 

“Yes; I made many of several men employed at the 
store, and found that my father has a woolen house in 
Scotland and has business relations with Mr. Hazleton, 
also an interest in this house here, as near as I can find 
out. As soon as I had gleaned that news, I went 
directly to his office, where I found him reading, and 
put the pointed question to him: ‘Mr. Hazleton, did 
Joseph Boynton, Sr., procure this position for me?’ ” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


86 

“Oh! what did he say?” Beatrix exclaimed, all ex- 
citement. 

“The old numbskull did not say anything, but opened 
wide his eyes and stared at me. So I repeated the ques- 
tion again: ‘Mr. Hazleton, will you kindly answer my 
question? Did Mr. Boynton obtain this position for 
me?’ ” 

“Did he not reply then?” she said in surprise. 

“No; he even then refused to answer me, but opened 
his mouth and eyes and stared at me like an Egyptian 
mummy. That was the most disagreeable part. I felt 
very much angered, so I unlimbered my mouthpiece 
and told him just what I thought of Joe Boynton, Sr. 
‘By your silence I am led to* understand that I received 
this position through the influence of a man who should 
hold the relation of a father to me. I should go a long 
distance rather than accept a favor from such a hypo- 
critical, heartless man as he must be, and I desire to 
have as little to do with him or his friends as possible. 
Therefore you need not expect to see me here again, 
as I resign my position,’ and I took the shortest cut 
out of the store.” 

“Did he not say anything to you as you were leav- 
ing?” inquired Beatrix dubiously. 

“Not one word. He sat quietly, staring at me as 
though he had been struck dumb. During all my ad- 
mirable speech, his mouth Avas closed as tight as an 
oyster shell. He seemed surprised that I should dare 
approach the subject. I surely expected he would 
answer that one question at least.” 


4 


90 THAT OTHER WOMAN. 

“The more inquiries we make the less we seem to 
know,” said Beatrix, as a look of disappointment passed 
over her face. 

“He was decidedly rude, and if I had not had the 
disposition of an angel, I should have given that man a 
few sudden strokes with my fists.” 

“I do not know as you can boast of a very angelic 
disposition,” said Beatrix, smiling, “but a little temper 
and spirit seem a necessity to success in some enter- 
prises.” 

“I admit I do get very angry sometimes, but I think 
I have a good reason,” replied Joe. “I am sure I shall 
never enter Mr. Hazleton’s store again, but I intend to 
go abroad and find Mr. Boynton and learn from his own 
lips the cause of his cruel treatment toward my mother 
and the full history of his career.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN 


91 


CHAPTER X. 

“Carl, I will go anywhere and everywhere with 
you, but you must try and forget the past,” said Mrs. 
Clayton, some months after, while they were in Ger- 
many. 

“Beatrix Boynton’s sweet face is constantly before 
me, mother ; I did think I could overcome my love for 
her, and I must strive to forget her, however vain it 
seems to me now. Time is the healer of all wounds. 
Her refusal was unexpected — a great disappointment,” 
said Carl sadly. 

“You will think of her at some future day with in- 
difference and wonder at your foolish infatuation.” 

Carl shook his head. “I do not know,” he replied 
doubtfully. 

“Her indifference, her refusal has given you renewed 
interest in her. Anything that is easily purchased is 
never appreciated.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that Miss Boynton was in 
love with M. La Bau?” he said, his voice vibrating 
with jealous and deep emotion. 

“I had never thought of it, but I am sure he would 
never give her a single thought.” 

“I am inclined to think he was in love with her. 
She seemed very lovely, gentle, refined, and she had a 


92 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


very beautiful face, you will acknowledge that, mother, 
I am sure,” he said with a sigh. 

“That may be; that is not the question. Beauty is 
not the only thing to be thought of ; it should be the 
last when a man is choosing a wife. Her parentage is 
a mystery. I never could admit a girl into my house- 
hold with open arms who has a stain on her name, 
never, never ! It is disgraceful. I cannot think of it 
with any degree of patience,” said Mrs. Clayton with 
indignation. 

“But I never listen to whispered slanders.” 

“You were so much in love that you would not listen 
to anything against her. It was a well-known fact, 
and she ought never, never to have intruded into re- 
spectable society.” 

“You are severe, mother. It may have been some- 
thing over which she had no control. It would be a 
hard world indeed if the innocent were made to shoulder 
the sins of the wicked.” 

“I am not so sure of her innocence. A child having 
a very wicked parent must naturally inherit some of his 
propensities. I do not deny but that she had a sweet 
face, but there is great deal of deception hidden beneath 
the surface, and she surely puzzled you at her refusal to 
marry you.” 

“Yes; she puzzled me,” replied Carl thoughtfully. 

“And the very fact of her refusal has set you to 
thinking more earnestly of her, and has strengthened 
your attachment, as she no doubt very well knew it 
would. It may simply have been a little trickery on 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


93 


her part, and I think it a most fortunate thing, your 
having escaped that intriguing Yankee girl. For 
myself, I am very glad of it, for I never could have 
recognized her, and she never would have been recog- 
nized by any of your friends.” 

“I think she cared little for society. One cannot 
find much comfort in that alone,” replied Carl dole- 
fully. 

“I have no doubt you will meet with some one in 
your travels who will please your fancy as well, and be 
better fitted for your position in life.” 

And so they traveled o’er land and o’er sea, hurrying 
from place to place, but still Carl was restless and dis- 
contented. 

“You must interest yourself in something,” his 
mother said to him. “You have talents. You have 
said that you did not like idleness. Get absorbed in 
public life, you will be far happier. You would soon 
become renowned.” 

“Do you think happiness is to be found in public life? 
Happiness is not one of the gifts that fame brings. It 
gives power, which many men crave. I care little for 
power, less for fame. They do not bring peace of mind. 
You cannot think in quietude or weep in silence. The 
tumultuous multitude must know all. Contentment is 
to be found in a peaceful home, with only loved ones 
around you, or in the tranquillity of the country, amid 
the murmur of the babbling brooks, and the songs of 
the merry birds.” 

“Go to Paris then and quietly study art; you know 


94 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


you were always very fond of it, and ©very connoisseur 
has told you that you excelled in all your paintings.” 

“I admit, mother, I think I should be happier if my 
mind was employed on something that interested me. 
I will take your advice. I am very fond of painting. 
I will go to Paris at once and devote myself to art.” 

“I shall be only too glad to settle down somewhere, 
for I am completely tired of traveling,” said his mother. 

To Paris they went and established themselves in a 
beautiful apartment on the Champs Elysee. Carl could 
be seen every morning about 10 o’clock wending his 
way to the studio of a celebrated artist. In rainstorm 
or in sunshine he was always there, so interested was 
he in the one painting he was engaged upon. He had 
the genius of a true artist. One morning, some months 
later, he went to his study as usual. There was only 
one person there, a young lady, who was bending over 
a picture standing on the floor, looking so intently at it 
that she had not heard him enter. He stood for a 
moment transfixed. “That figure, so graceful, I have 
seen it somewhere. Can it be she? It surely looks like 
her. I will wait awhile, she will soon turn around.” 

But no, she still gazed and gazed on that beautiful 
face, with large, dreamy, violet eyes, that stood looking 
out into the far ocean, with one finger outstretched and 
a tassel hanging loosely over it, with a drab cloak hung 
gracefully from the shoulders. 

Carl stood almost motionless for a few moments in 
breathless silence, looking earnestly at the bending 
figure, hoping she would soon turn so he could see her 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


95 


face. Getting impatient he walked slowly, cautiously 
up to where she stood. Still she did not move, but 
stood gazing silently, earnestly at the picture. He im- 
patiently took his cane and softly tapped his boot with 
it, as he now stood close behind her. 

She started like a frightened deer, turned around, 
looked him full in the face. “I beg pardon,” she ex- 
claimed in a low, sweet voice, which is always a great 
charm in a woman, “I was so interested in this beau- 
tiful face that I did not hear any one enter. I am a 
scholar here and I am very fond of fine paintings.” 

“I also beg your pardon for having disturbed you,” 
replied he, in a tone of disappointment. Carl’s 
thoughts were always with one, and the slightest re- 
semblance brought vividly to his mind the beautiful 
girl he had met at Seaview. 

“Thi3 is a very beautiful picture,” she said, turning 
and glancing at it again. ‘ ‘ I thought I had seen the 
face somewhere, and yet it seems too perfect to be any- 
thing but an ideal.” 

“You think you have seen some one that resembles 
the face?” he said, becoming very much interested in 
the stranger. “That is my own production. I am 
very glad if you like it. I had a face in my mind 
while painting it — that of a very beautiful young lady I 
had seen in Massachusetts during my last visit to that 
State.” 

“Indeed! It is a very lovely, sweet face, and very 
skillfully painted ; the coloring is so soft, the drapery 
so graceful. I have come from Massachusetts myself 


96 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


to study painting ; I shall try to perfect myself if possi- 
ble. If I can succeed as well as you have, I shall be 
perfectly satisfied. ’ ’ 

“She is very pretty,” thought Carl, as she stood fac- 
ing him, blushing deeply, with soft, brown eyes fringed 
with long lashes and beautiful, fair skin with small, 
delicate features and golden hair. 

“I fear you depreciate your own work. I hope I may 
have the pleasure of seeing some specimens of your 
skill — then I can judge for myself. I know they must 
excel mine,” he answered gallantly. 

Their teacher soon entered and introduced the young 
lady to Carl as Miss Child, from Boston. “One of my 
studious, diligent pupils,” he added. 

Time went on. Carl became very much interested 
in this other beautiful American girl. Mrs. Clayton 
was very much delighted to know that her son could 
take any interest in any one besides Beatrix Boynton. 
It was her desire that he should marry, but some one 
who was his equal socially, as the extinction of the 
name, she thought, would be a great misfortune. She 
did all she could to encourage this fancy after learning 
Miss Child’s history. She was very accomplished. 
She was a daughter of an ex-Governor of Massachusetts. 
She was not rich, but that Mrs. Clayton did not con- 
sider any drawback, since her antecedents were all that 
could be desired. She was chaperoned by her mother, 
who had a small income, enough to educate her daugh- 
ter and keep the wolf from the door, and enable them 
to live comfortably in foreign lands. Mrs. Clayton 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


97 


invited her to dine, took her to the theater, to the opera, 
and out driving with her. She was her constant com- 
panion. 

“Miss Child is very lovely and very pretty, do you 
not think so, Carl?” said his mother to him. 

“She is quite pretty, and very bright,” was his reply. 

“Do you not admire her, Carl?” 

“Yes; I admire her very much,” he answered. 

“She and her mother will travel with us this sum- 
mer. I think it will be delightful to have their com- 
pany, as they are both very charming. Are you not 
pleased with the idea?” 

“Yes, if it is your desire.” 

“You are both so interested in art, you' ought to be 
very agreeable companions for each other. I under- 
stand she has been very successful with her paintings.” 

“She is a very good artist.” 

Mrs. Clayton looked at him with searching inquiry 
to ascertain what his feelings were; she could not dis- 
cern anything. He was unfathomable. “I understand 
you have painted .a very beautiful picture; you may 
yet become a celebrity.” 

“Celebrity I never thought of. Passion is the most 
useful aid to artists. Beatrix Boynton is well worthy 
of an artist’s admiration.” 

“Pshaw! I am tired of her name. Do you not 
think Miss Child much prettier than Miss Boynton?” 
his mother inquired. 

Carl arose, walked slowly to the window, but made 
her no reply. 


98 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XI. 

The month was May, the month of flowers, when 
Mrs. Boynton and family all started for foreign shores. 
They went to London, where Joe left them, going to 
Scotland to search for his father. He had been gone 
but a few weeks before he returned without seeing 
him, as he had left for Venice. Hurriedly Joe started 
for Venice, arriving there just in time to miss him 
again. Back to London he came. He had succeeded 
in gaining some information that was valuable to him. 

“I have found out, Beatrix, that there is a woman in 
the case; that he has been or is married to another 
woman, and that she lives not far from our townhouse 
in Boston. She rides out in a very showy turnout 
and passes our house nearly every day.” 

“I can understand now, Joe, why poor mamma will 
never go out riding in the afternoon when we are in 
Boston. It is even difficult to get her to look out of the 
front window.” 

“We can now understand it all, Beatrix. How 
painful, offensive it must have been for mamma to have 
that woman so near her, a near neighbor. Think of it. 
I should not be surprised if he was married when he 
made mamma his wife.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


99 


“Oh! no! do not say that,” she said imploringly, in 
a low, pathetic tone, “as we would be ill — ” the 
word died on her lips; she could not speak it. She 
hardly dare think it. Her worst fears were confirmed 
if this were true. 

“I do not say that is so. I merely said it may be so; 
do not misunderstand me, Trix. I intend to investigate 
more fully and find out every particular, and I will find 
out all about that other woman, what relation she holds 
to him. I cannot rest until I have done so. I am de- 
termined to ferret it all out.” 

“If it should be as you mistrust, then we never had 
any — ” she paused a moment, “fa-th-er,” she faltered 
with a choking sob. 

“Y-e-s, we had a father. We are bipeds, all bipeds 
have fathers; therefore we must have had one, such as 
he is.” 

“If that should prove to be as you suspect I could 
never have the courage to hold my head up and look 
any one in the face again ; we should be worse than 
fatherless,” she sadly replied. 

“I should be better content if we had none in fact,” 
he answered. 

With averted face Beatrix sighed heavily and tears 
poured down her cheeks. 

“I saw his partner in Scotland,” Joe continued, “and 
he treated me with the greatest kindness, was very 
courteous, invited me to drive with him, to dine with 
him. The latter invitation I accepted. I questioned 
him closely, but he would not utter an unkind word of 


100 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


that man Boynton. If his wife and two beautiful 
daughters had not been at the table I should have ex- 
pressed my opinion of him without any hesitation.” 

“It is very mysterious, Joe. He must know all 
about that man.” 

“There is no doubt whatever in my mind that he 
does, but I suppose he is of the same stamp, regardless 
of principle or the law or anything else save trickery. 
I am disgusted with the class of people I have had the 
misfortune to meet.” 

“ It is unfortunate for the young, particularly, to meet 
with people of that kind. It gives discontent to life. 
I sometimes envy the working girls, and no doubt they 
look at me with envy. Such is life,” said Beatrix 
dolefully. 

“I do not meet with anything but a set of old hypo- 
crites. There is no such thing as friendship, sincerity 
or justice in the world, I believe,” said Joe in disgust. 

“I do wish you could have found the one you were in 
search of, then you could have forced a reply.” 

“I am sure he is running from place to place to avoid 
me. Some one, I think, must have informed him of 
my coming — forewarned forearmed. Next time I en- 
deavor to find him he will not know beforehand,” de- 
termined Joe. 

“Did his partner give you the impression that he was 
a very bad man when you first saw him?” 

“Not at all. On the contrary, he had a very mild, 
pleasant face. He was of light complexion, rather 
short and stout, with sandy mustache and a very genial, 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


101 


agreeable manner. He had a convincing way of talk- 
ing that would make most people think he was their 
best friend. But looks are very deceptive, and dark 
deeds are hidden under the surface of seemingly inno- 
cent and honorable lives.” 

“I cannot comprehend it, Joe. Do you think it is 
fear? They really seem to be afraid to expose this 
terrible secret. ’ ’ 

“I do not know. That question I cannot possibly 
answer yet, but with patience and perseverance I shall 
and will know all in time,” he answered with an air 
of resolution. 

“It is sometimes thought that ignorance is blissful,” 
said Beatrix dubiously. 

“In some instances that may be so, not in this. We 
could not be more imbittered against that man than 
now. If I could only find some one with generous im- 
pulses who knew all the circumstances, and felt kindly 
disposed toward us enough to frankly tell me all ; but I 
am unable to advance any reason for the reticence of all 
who know him.” 

Beatrix retired to her room that night with a sorrow- 
ful heart, not to sleep, but to think. Once alone she 
gave way to hysterical weeping. She bemoaned her 
fate, cruel, pitiless fate. “I must shut this dark secret 
closely up in the recesses of my own sad heart. Many 
others have done the same from the beginning of the 
world. Every heart knows its own sorrow.” She 
opened the window ; the cool soft breeze fanned her 
heated brow. She sat there long after midnight, mur- 


102 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


muring against her destiny. “My mother not yet forty, 
slowly dying of a broken heart. ’ ’ 

When she awoke in the morning, London looked 
gray, gloomy and somber. It was yet early, the streets 
were alive with people, young and old, hurrying to and 
fro to their labor, to earn their daily bread. 

“Do I envy them?” They seem very happy, while I 
am unhappy,” she mused, as she saw them laughing 
and talking gayly as they went. She had silently 
watched them, she knew not how long, when she heard 
the voice of J oe calling her. 

“Are you going to sleep all day, Beatrix? I should 
think it was time to breakfast,” said he impatiently. 

“I had no idea it was so late. I am all ready to go 
with you,” answered Beatrix, opening the door, un- 
aware of the surprise she was to meet that morning. 
“I have been looking out of the window for some time 
at the passing crowd,” she added. “This is such a 
busy city, so much to be seen, that the time has passed 
Very swiftly.” 

“I have been waiting for you a long time, as I knew 
you would not go into the dining room alone. I am 
nearly dead with hunger. Mamma had her breakfast 
sent to her room nearly an hour ago.” 

“I was so interested in the crowd outside that I had 
forgotten all about my breakfast. I do feel very 
hungry. I will go with you immediately,” she replied, 
trying to assume a cheerful tone. 

Beatrix had attired herself in a dark green traveling 
costume, which fitted her to perfection. As she started 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


103 


to accompany her brother, she hastily drew from a bou- 
quet of flowers on a table near a few lilies of the valley 
and fastened them to the bodice of her dress. Glancing 
across the breakfast room as she entered with her com" 
panion, she saw to her astonishment Carl Clayton, his 
mother, and two ladies sitting at the same table. She 
turned pallid, stopped, and looked at Joe with an ap- 
pealing glance. 

“I cannot go in,” she muttered faintly. 

“I insist. You must be nearly famished.” 

“ I implore you not to insist. I cannot go,” she 
pleadingly said. 

“What is the trouble, Trix? I did not hear you com- 
plain of illness,” said Joe, looking at her inquiringly. 

“I feel a sudden faintness,” she answered feebly. 

“You are indeed looking very pale this morning.” 

“I know you will excuse me,” she said. “I will go 
directly to mamma’s room and breakfast quietly there. 

An hour later Joe returned. “Who do you think I 
have seen, Beatrix? It was such a surprise to me. I 
am sure it will be to you. Some of your friends.” 

“I do not think I have any friends here,” she sorrow- 
fully answered. 

“I saw Mrs. Clayton and her son. Mrs. Clayton said 
they had been traveling almost continuously for the past 
year. She said she was really tired of it, but she 
traveled simply to please Carl ; that he was not con- 
tented to remain in any place long at a time. They 
have just arrived here; will remain about a week. She 
thought it very hard to amuse him. I suppose he is 


104 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


blase , Beatrix, he has seen so much of the world in his 
younger days. I think he has changed somewhat ; he 
has not that careless, happy look he had when first I 
met him, hut he is just as handsome, as elegant, as dis- 
tingue as ever. He made no inquiries about my family. 
I wondered at that, he was so kind to and thoughtful of 
you at Seaview.” 

“I do not care to meet them again. You know how 
coldly Mrs. Clayton treated me when last I saw her.” 
Beatrix’s voice was very sad as she answered. 

“My dear daughter,” said Mrs. Boynton gently, “I 
do not think the London climate agrees with you very 
well. You look very pale and seem very nervous this 
morning.” 

“I inquired for M. La Bau,” said Joe. “Mrs. Clay- 
ton said they had not seen or heard anything about him 
since they left Seaview, that Carl had the greatest an- 
tipathy to him — would not recognize him when they met. 
Do you not think that singular? I thought they were 
the best of friends.” 

The face of Beatrix looked troubled, perplexed, but 
she made no reply. 

“She said she had the greatest admiration for him 
still, and thought him charming. She did not think 
there was any foundation for Carl’s bitterness.” 

“How did Carl reply?” Beatrix inquired with weari- 
ness. 

“He looked very grave and dignified, but made no 
response to that remark, and began to talk on other sub- 
jects. There is a very pretty young lady traveling 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


105 


with them. I should not be surprised if it was some- 
one Carl was interested in.” 

Beatrix sighed deeply. “I do hope we shall go home 
soon,” she murmured. 

“You and mamma seem to be very tired of London. 
I will make arrangements to go away very soon, since 
I am anxious to see parties in Boston or living near 
there. My faithful dog Hector, how glad he will be 
to see me! His affection is sincere,” said Joe, smil- 
ing at the thought of him. 

It was decided that they should leave in two days. 
Beatrix kept closely concealed in her room all the next 
day. The following morning they took an early start. 
She felt a sense of relief when the cars puffed out of the 
London depot. She could not trust herself to see Carl 
Clayton again, as she had tried in vain to forget him. 
“If he only knew the stain on my name, how he would 
scorn me!” she thought; “and his mother, that money- 
proud woman, what would she say? How unhappy the 
thought is to me. This mystery hangs over my head 
like the sharp point of a sword. I must trample this 
love in the dust. To think I was under the same roof 
with him and could not have the pleasure of once seeing 
or speaking to him, not even for one brief moment.” 
She was sure she was acting wisely to avoid him. “I 
must be silent. Silence is golden. Nature is silent. ” 




106 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XII. 

They returned to Boston in September, the month of 
harvest, after making a flying trip of only a week to 
the great City of the World, the magnificent, beautiful, 
gay, glittering Paris. Mrs. Boynton’s health would 
not permit of her traveling farther. Beatrix, as well as 
her mother, looked depressed and tired after their sea 
voyage. The Atlantic had been rough and unkind. It 
often is. They found their faithful coachman with 
their carriage and dog Hector awaiting them on their 
arrival at the landing. 

“How pleasant, beautiful and bright Boston seems 
to me after the darkness, gloom and mist of London,” 
said Beatrix, as they were rapidly wending their way 
home. 

“There is no place in the world for refinement and 
beauty like Boston, and I am glad to get back again,” 
replied Joe. 

Beatrix’s heart went out to the old home with a love 
and affectionate welcome as they drew near the entrance 
and walked up the long stone steps. “It looks so re- 
poseful, so peaceful. I am far happier here than any- 
where else, away from the rude gaze of strangers,” she 
thought. 

Everything was in readiness for their return; a 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


107 


bright wood fire was burning brightly in the dining 
room, but everything was wrapped in silence. The 
clocks had ceased their ticking, the furniture was robed 
in its white linen, but this quiet home was refreshing to 
her after four months’ absence. 

Joe began to read the past week’s news and to look 
over the mail that had collected during the past two 
weeks in his absence. 

“Here is a letter for you, Beatrix, mailed from New 
York,” said Joe in surprise, as he held it up before 
him, looking curiously at the handwriting. 

“Who can it be from? I do not know of any one that 
would write to me from New York,” she replied in 
astonishment. As she hastily opened it, a card slipped 
out and dropped on the floor. The letter read as fol- 
lows : 

“My Dearest Beatrix: I received a letter from 
Carl Clayton saying you had been in London, and he 
now thought you were traveling on the Continent. Not 
knowing your present address, I send this to Boston, 
hoping it will be remailed and you will receive it before 
you leave for this country. I have inclosed my card. 
It will give me the greatest pleasure and happiness 
if you will make me a visit before you return to 
your home, as I suppose you will land in New York. I 
shall be greatly disappointed if you refuse me. I have 
something to tell you that I cannot or dare not trust 
myself to write. There are but few one can confide in, 
but knowing your kindness and goodness of heart, I 
trust I can rely upon your friendship whatever should 
happen to me in the future. I shall always be pleased 


108 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


to hear from you and to learn of any good fortune that 
may cross your life. I do hope, my dear, sweet girl, 
you will decide to come and see me as soon as you ar- 
rive in this country. 

“Ever your friend, 

“Maud A. Baxter.” 

Beatrix looked very much puzzled as she finished 
reading aloud the letter to Joe. “What a singular let- 
ter to come from Maud Baxter. She was always so 
light-hearted, so gay. I did not think she ever had a 
serious thought. What can she wish to tell me that 
she cannot mention to her own family, who love her so 
fondly?” 

“I cannot understand it,” replied Joe thoughtfully. 
“She evidently wants to confide something in yon that 
she will not trust to many. There must be something 
on her mind that troubles her much.” 

“I always considered her one of fortune’s favorites, 
surrounded by luxury and everything that wealth can 
buy. Her home life must be pleasant — father, mother, 
sister. What else could she ask? What more could she 
want? I have always loved Maud ; she is very warm- 
hearted, generous and kind. I shall at once answer it, 
and say to her my friendship she can always rely upon. ” 

“It may be some little affair of the heart; girls of 
her age are always falling in love,” said Joe. 

“Whatever it is, she can have my sympathy.” 

“How is it, Trix, that you have escaped so long? I 
thought La Bau admired you very much,” said Joe, 
laughing lightly. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


109 


Beatrix looked a little confused, but made no answer. 

“You devote a few moments writing to Maud, as 
from the time you first met she took a decided fancy to 
you, while I write a letter to Australia. It is a very 
important one, and must be written and mailed to- 
night.” 

“To Australia?” she retorted, opening wide her eyes 
and looking at him inquiringly. 

“Yes, my letter must start for that country to-night 
without fail. I must invest you with another mystery, ’ ’ 
said Joe smiling, “but I may explain all to you in three 
months’ time. I am going to send there for a person 
to come to New York, whom it is very important I 
should see and converse with. Please do not ask me any 
questions, nor stare at me in such wonderment, as I 
will gladly tell you all as soon as I have proof myself.” 

Beatrix sat there a few moments absorbed in deep 
thought. She at last rose slowly, went to the library 
and answered Maud Baxter’s letter thus : 

“My Dearest Maud: Your letter reached me late, 
owing to my absence. I thank you for your many 
kind thoughts of me, and feel gratified at the trust you 
feel disposed to place in me. My mother is very deli- 
cate and needs my careful attention. I dare not leave 
here for any length of time, however strong my desire 
may be to see you. 

“We landed in Boston and were all very glad once 
more to be at our own quiet, comfortable home. You 
must not doubt for a moment my sincere friendship. 
In sunshine or in shadow, my dear Maud, believe me 
always, Your friend, Beatrix.” 


HO 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Beatrix’s letter written, she walked to and fro many 
times in the autumnal twilight just softly peeping 
through the window. The silence was unbroken, ex- 
cept by the monotonous tick, tick, tick, of the clock 
that she had only a few moments before put in motion. 
Her thoughts wandered to Sea view. She looked back 
to the time when she had first met Maud and M. La 
Bau and Carl Clayton, a few happy moments only, 
never to return. 

‘‘Where is Carl now? What is he doing? Has he 
transferred his affection to some one else? What else 
could I expect? Have I not refused him of my own 
free will? I am sure I have done right. I must try 
and not think of him. I will not think. It only brings 
misery upon myself. The first day of my arrival in 
this pleasant home, surrounded by every comfort, I must 
think of others with broken hearts and in abject poverty 
as well, and, alas, of my poor, broken-hearted mother,” 
she sobbed. It was now 6 o’clock; she bathed her eyes, 
that were red with weeping, and descended the stairs to 
dinner. The next day Joe went out immediately after 
breakfast and returned not until dusk. Beatrix, hear- 
ing his old-time laugh in the adjoining room, looked in 
and saw him executing a jig with delight. 

“You are having a very enjoyable time all to your- 
self. You seem very happy. You must have heard 
some very good news,” said she. 

“Rather uncertain as yet, Beatrix,” he answered, 
laughing heartily. 

“Iam sure you will be very glad to tell me any good 


THAT OTHER WOMAN 


111 


news you have been able to glean. I know you will,” 
she said, as a hopeful expression stole over her face. 

‘ ‘ 1 made an unceremonious call on one of our neigh- 
bors,” he said a little above a whisper, his face beaming 
all over with a smile. “This morning I went to see 
that other woman, Mrs. Boynton, as she calls herself.” 

“Why, Joe!” she exclaimed. “You must not be so 
reckless; some harm will surely come to you. She may 
be a woman of violent temper, and plunge a knife into 
your heart and kill you. Be more cautious.” 

“I fear her as much as I would a crawling worm un- 
der my feet. The fear was in her. She really was 
much frightened. She acted as though she thought I 
was loaded with firearms and would shoot her down 
like a dog. I assured her I only had a small penknife 
with me, and had too much affection for that to soil it 
on her. I simply came for information.” 

“How did you gain admittance? Iam surprisedThat 
she was willing to see you at all, ’ ’ said Beatrix, look- 
ing at him with amazement. 

Joe opened the door, looked all around to see if any 
one was near, then softly closing and locking it, said 
in a very low tone: “Not a word of this must mamma 
know, not a syllable. I will tell you all. I deliber- 
ately went up the steps of her house, rang the bell, told 
the attendant that answered my summons that I wished 
to see Mrs. Boynton, and walked into the parlor unan- 
nounced. She was sitting by the window reading the 
morning paper. ” Joe threw back his head and laughed 
softly at the thought of what had transpired. 


112 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I do not understand how you can laugh. It makes 
me perfectly wretched to think I am any relation to 
such a wicked man. Do go on. I am so impatient to 
hear all. How was she dressed? How did she look?” 

“She was dressed in a dark blue morning wrapper, 
with old gold silk in front, and a few large, red roses 
were fastened at the waist. A blond wig adorned her 
head. 

“How did she act when first she saw you? What 
did she say? I am all anxiety to hear. You stop so 
often to laugh, and talk so slowly,” said Beatrix. 

“On seeing me she jumped to her feet and said: 
‘Whom do you wish to see?’ She apparently knew me 
much better than I did her. ‘I wish to see a party who 
calls herself Mrs. Boynton,’ I answered, standing 
directly in front of her and looking her straight in the 
face. ‘Will you tell me if that is your name, madam?’ 
‘ That is my name, ’ she said, slowly and emphatically, 
looking at me and nodding her head the while.” 

“Were you not afraid?” inquired Beatrix, in a won- 
dering voice a little above a whisper. 

“No, I stood unawed in her presence, as she did not 
seem to like me well enough to invite me to be seated,” 
answered Joe, laughing again. 

“Was she pleasant in her manner?” 

“I can hardly say she was very pleasant. On the 
contrary, she was freezingly cold, cold enough to cause 
the mercury to drop a little below zero, and she lacked 
refinement. I do not think she enjoyed my visit very 
much.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


113 


“How dreadful it all is,” said Beatrix, sighing. 

“I put a few questions to her, which she declined to 
answer. She was not very complimentary. ‘You 
young stripling, with that downy slip on your upper 
lip, ’ she said to me in loud, angry tones, ‘what right 
have you to come into my house and question me? It is 
preposterous. I never met with such a bold, impertinent 
youth, * She then ordered me to leave the house. ‘Get 
out of my presence this moment, ’ she said, stamping 
her feet. I stood my ground, however, and informed 
her that I should leave as soon as she had answered the 
questions I put to her. ‘I may know now more than 
you would be glad to hear,’ I added. Her black eyes 
flashed. ‘You know much! I think you know little,’ 
she answered. ‘I expect to know more. I expect to 
increase my knowledge, madam, by the information I 
get from you,’ I replied. ‘Enough. Your time is 
wasted. You had better go home and attend to your 
own affairs, ’ she cried, loudly and angrily, and rushed 
into another room, shutting and locking the door behind 
her. I did not hurry in the least. I took my time and 
walked slowly around to see what the room contained.” 
Joe laughed again softly, as though pleased at the dis- 
comfort he had given her. 

“Tell me more. Tell me all about the house,” his 
sister inquired excitedly. 

“The rooms were very handsomely furnished, with 
comfortable and large easy chairs of every description, 
choice bric-a-brac of curious shapes and design. Fine 
paintings were hanging on the walls, among them being 


114 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


a life-size picture of Joe Boynton, Sr., in a very con- 
spicuous place, directly opposite the door as you enter. 
I recognized it at once. You remember you showed me 
one in a locket of mamma’s. I think it must have been 
a copy from the same proof, as the attitude and dress 
are similar. He appeared to be a man of about thirty- 
five when it was taken. He must be a much older 
man now, and I hardly think I could recognize him 
from that picture, as he must have changed in the years 
that have elapsed. I expect to visit that woman again 
before many weeks have past. I have frequently seen 
her riding past the house in a very fine equipage. 
The next time I see her I will call your attention to 
it.” 

“I do not care to see her. I think it would make me 
very unhappy,” replied Beatrix sadly. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


115 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Joe was out nearly all day for weeks, hurrying to 
and from the house, barely taking time to eat. He was 
not idle a minute. He was gone day after day. Some- 
times he would not return until after midnight. One 
afternoon he happened home by chance at 5 o’clock. 

The atmosphere was balmy and bright. The streets 
without were full of carriages and gay occupants. As 
the sun was sinking low behind the clouds, Beatrix 
and her brother went to the window to gaze at the pass- 
ing crowd. A moment later Joe exclaimed: £ 4 Look! 
look! There she is. That woman. Do you see her?” 

Beatrix, looking out, saw quite a showy carriage 
passing slowly, with coachman and footman mounted 
in front and a span of chestnut horses collared in blue. 
A very much dressed woman reclined languidly amid 
the dark blue cushions. She leaned forward as she 
passed, and stared boldly up at the house. As she saw 
them looking at her, she tossed her head back in an im- 
pudent, defiant way, and a sneer passed over her face. 

“How contemptuously she looked at us,” said Bea- 
trix, as a pained, sad expression stole over her face. 

“Bah! I have no fear of her. I may be able to take 
a little of that contempt, scorn and affectation away 
from her before long,” answered Joe indignantly, 


116 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Weeks rolled onward; the month of October had 
nearly passed away. Joe went out as usual day after 
day, week after week ; not one moment did he lose. He 
had gained considerable knowledge in the late search, 
although he would not tell his sister fully what he had 
learned. He had told her that he had written to his 
father nearly three weeks previously, but as yet had not 
received any response. 

One morning as Beatrix arose from breakfast, she 
picked up a New York paper and the first article that 
met her glance, in large flaming letters was, “Elope- 
ment of the Rev. Dr. Baxter’s eldest daughter, Maud.” 
There was much said, giving all the details. Her 
mother was prostrated with grief. The article stated 
that she had been married to a Frenchman by the name 
of La Bau. They had traced her to a steamer that had 
sailed for Europe the day before. 

“Joe, you knew all this for so long,” she exclaimed. 
“You have done very wrong to keep that secret for M. 
La Bau simply because you liked him.” 

Joe looked at her rather in mingled surprise and 
amazement. “No, I assure you, I did not. I am 
innocent of any intentional wrong-doing. I knew Maud 
was in love with some one, but did not think for once 
that it was La Bau.” 

“It must also be a great surprise to Mrs. Clayton and 
Carl,” she said thoughtfully. 

“No doubt Mrs. Clayton sincerely thought she was 
keeping Maud away from the lover her mother so much 
objected to, not knowing that La Bau was the one. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


117 


They probably arranged to meet at Seaview, and Mrs. 
Clayton could not understand why Maud was so con- 
tented there. Instead of breaking off the attachment, 
she gave them every possible assistance without de- 
signing to do so. She will feel very unhappy when she 
learns the news, I am sure, for she was very fond of 
Maud, and very anxious for Carl to marry her.” 

“You had a note, Joe, that M. La Bau was very 
anxious to obtain. I saw you give it to him one day 
directly in front of the house,” she said, as there passed 
through her mind all that had occurred previously. 

“Yes, I had a note which he requested me to carry 
to Maud. I took it, intending to do so, but changed 
my mind and thought I would return it to him. In 
passing it to him one day later, it slipped from the en- 
velope and the envelope fell at his feet, leaving the note 
in my hand. He hurriedly picked it up, thinking it 
was the note. I secreted the letter in my vest pocket 
and ran into the house, as you remember, and was much 
amused at his mistake. I was younger then. ” 

“Did you not know what the note contained?” she 
inquired. 

“No, I never read the contents, although he always 
thought I knew what it contained, since the note was 
accidentally not sealed, and I never took the trouble to 
disabuse his mind. That was boyish pleasure. I have 
outgrown all that. He did not want it to be known 
that there was any secret between them, not even that 
he wrote to her. He was always exacting a promise 
from me not to expose it.” 


118 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I am really very sorry to hear this, for I very much 
liked Maud. She was a trusting, confiding girl, but I 
did not quite like M. La Bau when first I saw him. I 
am so afraid he will ill-treat her, unless he can obtain 
money sufficient for his demands. I fear that was the 
principal attraction. I can now well account for the 
letter I have received from her.” 

“I very much regret now that I did not open and 
read the note. But regrets are vain and useless. Maud 
Baxter may repent at leisure her disobedience, to her 
parents. It usually ends that way. However, we may 
never know the result. Well, dear Trix, the hours are 
passing fast. I have no time to lose. I must be away 
to my detective work. I think I shall make quite an 
expert.” 

“I do hope you will succeed. You surely deserve to. 
You have made every possible endeavor.” 

“I must and shall succeed. I am very much pleased 
with what I have learned. I have had some assistance 
from experienced detectives, but have done much my- 
self. I have also written two letters to Joseph Boyn- 
ton, Sr., which he does not condescend to notice. I 
have something now to write that I think will bring a 
prompt reply. If not, I shall write and write again 
and again. I shall force him to reply,” Joe said. 

“It is unjust for him to let those letters go unan- 
swered,” said Beatrix indignantly. 

“I am quite sure he will not let this last one go un- 
answered, as I have written very plainly, severely, 
harshly.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


119 


1 1 We must watch faithfully for it, Joe, so it shall not 
fall into mamma’s hands, as she might think best to 
keep it from us, and it would make her very unhappy, 
too, while it would be a great disappointment to us if 
we could not read it after having so much trouble to 
get it.” 

Two weeks went by. Every day for a week after 
they both watched and waited patiently and scanned 
the mails closely, but still the expected answer did not 
come. Two weeks more and still no reply. They did 
not dare leave their post for fear it would be given to 
their mother, and she would recognize the handwriting. 

“I am perfectly discouraged. I do not think you 
will ever receive any response,” Beatrix said, with 
feverish impatience, as the last mail had been dis- 
tributed for the night. ‘ 4 1 think he is unkind. It is 
humiliating to be treated with so much indifference by 
one from whom you have a right to demand a share of 
attention. We seem to be beneath his notice.” 

“There is yet time I do not despair of receiving an 
answer. I shall watch a few days longer. Then, if 
none comes, I shall write again,” replied Joe reso- 
lutely. 

They were both at the window the next day watch- 
ing, at the time the mail usually arrived, but the ex- 
pected letter still did not come. On the fourth day 
after they were rewarded for their patient watching. 
There came a letter mailed in Scotland, written in a 
plain, bold hand, directed to Joe. Beatrix was over- 
joyed. She snatched it eagerly from the postman, and 


120 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


her heart beat violently as she tremulously passed it to 
her brother, and waited in breathless haste to hear the 
contents. Joe hastily, nervously tore open the envel- 
ope, with eager anxiety and suspense, and sat in silence 
for a few moments with wide-open eyes in surprise, 
looking at the first word that met his gaze. 

“Read it, read it; do not wait so long. I am so im- 
patient to hear what your — fa-ther has to say,” Beatrix 
anxiously said. 

“I have not read it myself yet,” he slowly answered, 
his eyes still fixed on the first word, while he sat there 
almost motionless, staring silently, thoughtfully at it. 

“But you must read it at once. I cannot wait 
longer. I am dying of curiosity,” she said beseech- 
ingly. 

Joe shook his head. 

“It is very unkind to tantalize me so. What is it 
all about? Is there anything so dreadful in the first 
lines? You do not seem to move your eyes from them. 
You do not appear to be very eager to read it yourself 
now you have received it,” she said in an agony of tor- 
ture and with tears in her eyes. 

Joe’s eyes wandered quickly over the closely written 
letter in his hand, then in an instant he looked back to 
the first word and silently turned the open page to her 
view. She saw only one word written in a clear, large, 
plain hand, “Confidential.” 

“I am very sorry. I regret this exceedingly, Bea- 
trix. I know it is a great disappointment to you to be 
deprived of hearing it read, but you must have forbear- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


m 

ance and patience. You must excuse me from reading 
it aloud to you, as I am forbidden to do so, and what 
little I have read, I assure you, it is best you should 
not know. I must have some respect for the confidence 
he has placed in me. I cannot betray his trust even if 
you think you have been severely wronged. Some time 
I hope to tell all.” 

He arose and went to his own room to quietly read 
the letter, closing the door behind him, leaving Beatrix 
perplexed, and to surmise what she could. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


122 . 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“More mysteries,” mused she, as she sat there alone 
where Joe had left her. “I wonder what that letter 
contained? That letter that I have waited, watched for 
day after day so anxiously, even for weeks.” 

Darkness came on. She walked to the window and 
looked up at the clear, blue sky. The stars were slowly 
appearing one by one. She watched long and thought 
much. “Will everything or even anything ever be 
clear to me? How cruel it all seems, he to have written 
so many pages, and I to only know one word, only one, 
and that one to deepen the mystery.” She heard the 
merry laughter on the footwalks below, and the soft 
familiar air of “Home, Sweet Home,” as it wafted 
faintly through the closed window from a street band. 
She pondered, she wondered, and the more she thought 
the less she knew. 

“What if I should live many years? There is not a 
very brilliant future before me. If I had brought this 
mystery upon myself, I could be more reconciled. It 
is said that it is always darkest before the dawn. I am 
yet young. Will the shadows, the clouds, ever be 
lifted?” As she went to sleep that night, a faint feel- 
ing of happiness stole over her at the thought of one 
member of the family receiving some notice from one 
who had been silent so many years. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


123 


The next morning at the breakfast table she watched 
her brother’s expression closely, hoping to discern some- 
thing that would enlighten her, but he quietly, silently 
ate his breakfast without uttering a word. He looked 
very thoughtful, very serious, and seemed very much 
saddened in those few hours. 

“Joe,” she exclaimed, as he came into the library 
directly after breakfast, “why can you not tell me 
about the letter? If you cannot tell me much, tell me a 
little — only a few words,” she pleaded. 

“No, I cannot.” 

“He is the same relation to me that he is to you,” 
she persisted. 

J oe shook his head sadly. ‘ 4 Do not ask me, ’ ’ he said. 

“I have a right to ask. I have a right to know.” 

He again silently shook his head without replying. 

“I cannot endure all this suspense. It really makes 
me sick. If you would only tell me whether it con- 
tained good news or bad I could be more content.” 

Joe walked to the window, looked out a few 
moments, as if in thought, then turned to her: “I will 
tell you as soon as I can gather all the truth and facts,” 
was his reply. 

“You had a very long letter from Scotland. I should 
judge a very important one, very much stamped, 
enough to tell the life history of any ordinary mortal. 
One could tell a great deal in so many pages. You 
could give me a little idea of what was said.” 

“There was much that was written in that letter. 
The writer may know more than I do, he may know 


124 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


less. He may be right. I may be wrong. H# may 
be wrong. In time I shall know more than now. I 
hardly think the letter writer knows as much about 
some of his affairs as I now do.” 

“You talk so mysteriously,” said Beatrix, with tears 
in her eyes. 

“I fear I have bewildered you more than ever, but I 
can only talk as I think. It is better that you should 
not know at present, dear sister. I will tell you all 
when with prudence I can do so, but I must not entirely 
forget the early teaching of my dear mamma. I know 
she would counsel me to keep this secret if I could only 
consult with her.” 

“If I should write to him personally do you think I 
would receive a response?” inquired she seriously. 

“No. Take my advice. Do not write. I am sure 
your letter would not receive an answer.” 

Beatrix was silent, but still more puzzled, if possible, 
than before. 

“It is growing late, my time is valuable. I must be 
off,” Joe said, as he started on his mysterious duty. 

He had not been gone long before he returned accom- 
panied by two foreign-looking men, with whom he was 
locked up in the library for some hours. What it 
meant Beatrix knew not, but from her brother’s happy 
smile she felt it was very satisfactory to him. 

Several weeks had passed. Joe was in constant cor- 
respondence with his father. He had received several 
letters from him, but he had kept them closely locked, 
and would not disclose a word that had been written. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


125 


One evening later, as the clock was striking the hour 
of 8, while they were all quietly reading upstairs 
in their mother’s room, Joe having just lighted a fra- 
grant Havana and prepared to spend a quiet evening at 
home, it being stormy and disagreeable outside, a ser- 
vant entered and announced a caller to see Mr. Boyn- 
ton. Joe descended the stairs with his cigar in his 
mouth, not knowing whom he was to meet, as he had 
had business with many strangers during the past two 
months. A few moments after Beatrix heard a very 
loud, excited voice coming from the hall below. Open- 
ing the door cautiously, and looking over the railing 
of the stairs, she saw a large, showy woman, very 
much rouged, with very black eyebrows, and wearing 
false hair of a light hue; a very objectionable looking 
person, she thought. She did not have the appearance 
of being young, however hard she strove to look so. 
She was very much dressed. She had on a garnet silk, 
elaborately trimmed with black lace and expensive jet 
trimmings. A long white opera cloak hung loosely 
from her shoulders, and a small hat of white plumes 
and jet adorned her head. Jewels sparkled on her un- 
gloved hands and in her ears. 

“I am quick to hear, so it is unnecessary to talk in so 
loud a tone, madam,” Joe was saying to her, fearing 
his mother would overhear. But she was very much 
excited, and continued talking very loudly. 

“How dare you be so disrespectful to me?” pointing 
her forefinger at herself to make the “me” more expres- 
sive. “Dictate to me how I shall talk!” she continued. 


126 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I repeat it, madam,” Joe coolly replied, “I wish 
you would lower your voice a dozen or more notes. I 
could understand you just as well.” 

“I shall not consult a hoy how I shall talk, neither 
shall I consult a boy what I shall say,” loudly repeated 
the woman. 

“Boy, eh? Then you think I am a very bad little 
boy,” he retorted, in a provoking tone. “I am really 
afraid you will injure my digestion. You may find 
out to your discomfiture that I have done the work of 
a man in the past few months.” 

“I want to know what you are trying to do, you 
wretch. Are you try ing to stop my remittances?” said 
the visitor. 

“You shall have all that is justly due you,” was his 
reply. 

“I did not have my just dues last month. I do not 
wish any interference, nor do I require any assistance 
from a young, bold sprig like you. I can attend to all 
my own affairs. I want and expect the same share this 
month as usual,” she said loudly, wrathfully. 

“Madam, I think in the past you have had a little 
more than your share,” he calmly replied. 

“I think I have not had even a penny more than I 
should have had, nor than I deserve to have. I am too 
thoughtful of others, too good. I should have required 
more.” 

“You have a very good appreciation of yourself,” 
said Joe quietly, surveying her from head to foot. 

“How dare you talk to me in such a rough, rude 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


127 


manner. I will not allow it, you young rascal, ” she 
exclaimed, putting out one jeweled hand to stop his 
words. 

“I cannot choose my words, madam. You have had 
no consideration for our family.’ ’ 

“Why should I have? I ought not to have allowed 
you to have one cent, not even one. I suppose you do 
not know you ought to be grateful to me for all you 
have had?” 

“Indeed!” Joe said, calmly elevating his eyebrows. 
“That is a piece of information I never heard before. 
That truth is only known to yourself, if truth it is. I 
am disposed to think you have been very well cared for 
considering all the circumstances.” 

“Considering!” she repeated angrily. “How dare 
you insult a lady to her face? Your talk is idle, fool- 
ish. I did not come here on such a bad night as this 
to listen to mere senseless prattle from a lad like you.” 

“I did not seek this interview. I did not desire it. 
I will repeat what I have already said; perhaps you 
may be able to answer it, if you will. I must acknowl- 
edge the deception is past my comprehension. Can you 
not truthfully say you have had more done for you than 
you ought to have expected?” questioned Joe. 

“No, indeed, I cannot. My husband is able to give 
me everything I wish. He is rich ; he should supply 
me with every luxury. It is his duty to see that I do 
not want for anything to make me comfortable.” 

“0 — h! who is your husband?” inquired Joe, with a 
shrug of his shoulders. “I had no idea that he was 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


128 

rich. I should be glad to have you tell me mor© about 
him.” 

“You impudent fool, you know very well who he 
is,” said his visitor. 

“No, madam, I assure you I have never had the 
honor of meeting him. I should be very glad to make 
his acquaintance,” said he sarcastically. 

“You are making yourself very odious, hateful, 
abominable. I advise you to be a little cautious. My 
husband,” emphasizing the word, “ought to rule you 
with a rod of iron, and keep you in your place. You 
evidently don’t know enough to keep in it yourself or 
where you belong.” 

Joe looked at her defiantly. “Your husband rule 
me!” he repeated scornfully. “You and I must have 
different opinions regarding the relationship.” 

“When you are older perhaps you will know more.” 

“I should be very sorry to know any more regarding 
some people than I now know, since my faith in human- 
ity has become somewhat shaken even at my early 
years, I regret to say.” 

Her dark eyes flashed. “I am not here to talk about 
your faith in humanity. I am here to talk business. 
I do not consider it any pleasure to talk to such a dis- 
agreeable lad as you are.” 

“Oh! I thought you enjoyed my company. I had 
just flattered myself that I was very agreeable to you. 
Then you are simply here to take a little of the vanity 
out of me?” he answered with a little, irritating laugh. 

“I am here to say that I do not wish you to inter- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


129 


meddle with any of my business affairs. It is now 
nearly a week past the time when my payment was 
due. I know of no one who would have the audacity to 
interfere but a young stripling like you, with no other 
way to occupy his time. It is insupportable. I require 
the money immediately to support my household. ” 

“You have been supported for a great many years in 
considerable style. It would be very unfortunate to 
have your income cut off now,” Joe said disdainfully. 

“It shall not be cut off. I will not lose my lawful 
subsistence. I will fight for it in a court of justice. I 
will have my rights,” said the woman. 

‘ ‘ Court of justice ! ” he repeated mockingly. ‘ ‘ I fear 
you misuse that word ‘justice. ’ You have a great sense 
of honor and justice,” pointing his forefinger at her 
while speaking. 

“What do you mean? You do not seem to remem- 
ber who I am, ’ 9 his visitor said with assumed dignity. 

“Yes, madam, I remember too well who you are. I 
am not at all flattered with the acquaintance. I shall 
do all in my power to cut off the large allowance you 
have had for many past years. It was not your just 
due. You should not have had it. I ought to have 
investigated long ere this,” replied Joe scornfully. 

“Oh! you young terror,” said she with growing 
wrath. “I should like to thrash you until you were 
dead,” taking a whip from the folds of her drapery. 

“Stop! Drop that, Mrs. Terhune,” said Joe hastily, 
holding his hand up before him to ward off the blow. 

“What do you mean?” she gasped, as her hand fell 


130 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


listless by her side. “That — that — is not so. It is — it is 
all false,” she faltered. She sank down in a chair say- 
ing, “How wicked! Oh! how wicked! I cannot bear 
it. You are making up some false story about me. A 
deep plot. How can you do such a bad thing as that?” 
she whined. 

“I will give you every opportunity to prove it false,” 
he calmly replied. 

“Where did you get that name?” she said faintly. 
“I do not know what you mean.” 

“I think you ought to be accustomed to it. You 
must have heard it often. I should think it would be 
very familiar to you after so many years. It may not 
have been so useful as my father’s name, Mrs. Ter ” 

“Do not say it,” interrupting him, regaining her 
composure somewhat. “I will not listen to any false 
name applied to me. You have heaped insult after in- 
sult upon me;” again lifting her hand as if to strike. 
Joe forced the whip from her and threw it back of him, 
it striking the dining room door with force, and making 
much noise, as it fell heavily. Biddy, the servant, 
hearing the report of a loud, hard thump as the whip 
came against the door, and hearing a woman talking in 
a loud, angry voice, ran screaming into Mrs. Boynton’s 
room, saying: 

“There’s murther being committed in the house, 
mum. Yis, mum, right in the house, mum. Sure, 
mum, Mr. Joe is getting kilted. Oh! Holy, holy 
saints ! Oh ! merciful hi vens ; have pity on me poor 
soul and receive me safely,” throwing herself on 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


131 


her kne©s before Mrs. Boynton. “What’s to b© done 
thin? I niver thought the likes of meself would be 
brought up in a murther trial and Mr. Joe so fine and 
so nice to be kilt.” 

Mrs. Boynton was reclining on a lounge half-asleep 
when Biddy broke in upon her. She looked at her in a 
half -dazed way, not knowing what she meant, as she 
had not overheard anything outside' the quietude of 
her own room, Beatrix having carefully kept the doors 
closed to prevent her from hearing the conversation. 

“Bridget, calm yourself. You talk incoherently. I 
have not heard anything unusual in the house,” she 
said. “Tell me what it is.” 

“Poor Mr. Joe! he is kilt dead. I heard a pistol 
bullet go right way through him, and it would have 
gone clean through me too, if I had not taken meself in 
here out of the way. “Forgive us our sins,” moaned 
Biddy. 

“Do not be so alarmed, Bridget. I do not see any 
cause for it. Joe can take care of himself. If he has 
had a quarrel with any one, he will come out safely. 
I never have the least fear in regard to him. My only 
fear is for Beatrix. I do not see her. Where is she?” 

“She is kilted, too, mum. Yis, mum, kilted dead, 
jist like poor Mr. Joe. A rale double murther. Oh! 
protect us,” she groaned. 

Mrs. Boynton arose, walked slowly to the door, but 
could not turn the knob. “Some one must be holding 
it from the outside,” she whispered, “Who can it be? 
Do you know, Bridget?” 


132 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“Yis, mum, it’s a woman, mum, in the shape of a 
divil, mum. It’s the murtherer to be sure. Plase do 
not go, plase,” pleaded Biddy. 

Mrs. Boynton went through another room out into 
the hall to hear the last words the woman uttered as 
she left. She went closely up to Joe and hissed her 
parting words in his ear: “I am the true and only 
Mrs. Boynton.” 

“The devil you are,” muttered Joe, as he shut and 
locked the door in her face. 

Beatrix, hearing a heavy fall, looked around and saw 
her mother lying face downward, apparently lifeless. 
Joe, hearing the disturbance, rushed upstairs, took her 
up gently and laid her on the bed. 

“Has she simply fainted? I am afraid she is dead. 
She heard that woman. Run for a doctor,” he said 
excitedly to one of the servants. “Do something to 
spare her life longer,” he implored the doctor as he en- 
tered. The servants and family had all gathered 
around the bed before the doctor came. 

“Stand back, every one of you; leave her alone,” he 
said authoritatively. “She must be kept quiet. She 
has fainted, I think. I cannot yet tell.” They bathed 
her head and chafed her hands. For some time she 
lay pallid and motionless after every exertion on their 
part to restore her. She finally slowly opened her eyes, 
looked all around the room with an intensely painful 
and frightened expression, drew a long sigh, then closed 
her eyes again. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


133 


CHAPTER XY. 

Mrs. Boynton had suffered much, had suffered 
often, for long years, in silence. The exposure to her 
children was the last straw to her fragile strength, her 
delicate system. If she could only have known the 
truth that would be unfolded to her in a few brief hours. 

The skillful doctor came often, watched faithfully by 
her bedside, hoping by science to quell, to crush the 
merciless disease. Before leaving on his first visit, he 
motioned Beatrix to another room. Has she received 
any great shock?” he inquired. Her mind seems to be 
very much disturbed.” 

She hesitated. My mamma is often dejected,” she 
mournfully replied. 

“Yes.” 

I do not know how to tell you more, doctor. I am 
sure I do not,” she sadly answered. 

“No.” 

“Mamma has not been well for a longtime,” she said, 
evading all direct questions. She was confused, em- 
barrassed.” How could she tell her mamma’s life 
secret to any one? “I know it would not be her wish,” 
she thought. 

“She must not be annoyed,” said the doctor. 

“I hope not. I do hope not,” said Beatrix tearfully. 
“I shall do all I can to comfort her.” 


134 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“There are sometimes ailments which are far beyond 
the physician’s skill to discover, without the assistance 
of those who suffer from them. There appears to be 
some trouble on your mother’s mind. She must be kept 
very quiet. Do not let any one annoy or disturb her in 
the slightest way. She has not any organic trouble, 
but she is very weak. She seems much exhausted. She 
requires the best of care. I confess I hardly understand 
this case. She must have everything that is nourish- 
ing, and must also take a stimulant. I will leave a 
prescription that is soothing, which must be given her 
during the night whenever she wakes. It will immedi- 
ately again soothe to sleep. She thinks too much, alto- 
gether too much. Her mind must rest. I cannot say 
now that I can give you much hope, although there 
may be a change for the better after many hours of per- 
fect rest. I desire that you should take great care to 
follow all my suggestions. I will again see your 
mother in the early morning,” he said as he turned 
from her to leave. 

Beatrix watched faithfully by the bedside of her 
mother during the long night. When the break of 
dawn came clear and bright, she awoke, moved her 
head wearily to and fro, looked wishfully up at Beatrix, 
slowly moved her lips and said something in an inaudi- 
ble tone. She bent low her head to catch the words her 
mother was murmuring. 

“Is it true? You know it all?” she whispered with 
a moan. 


“Yes, dear mamma, I know it all.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


135 


“I will tell you all the facta, then you cannot blame 
him so much as you now do.” She leaned forward, 
took a sip of wine from a small table near. “This will 
give me strength. I will talk while I can,” Mrs. 
Boynton said in a very low tone. 

“Why have you kept it a secret from me so long, 
mamma?” 

“My dear, why should I interrupt the springtime of 
your happiness and pleasure? Youth is not the time 
for sadness and sorrow. That is the time for merri- 
ment and joy. I did not wish a single cloud or shadow 
to pass over j r our young life. No, darling, it was bet- 
ter for you not to know. Ignorance is blissful in some 
cases, and so it was in this,” and a tear dropped on her 
hand. 

“I am well and strong, mamma. I could have 
lightened with sympathy the burden of grief, of sor- 
row that you have borne so silently, so patiently for 
many long years without complaint. This incessant 
and constant fear, always gnawing at your heart, that 
the secret would become known, will now be silenced, 
and your life will be less embittered since the dread of 
exposure is at an end.” Beatrix withheld from her 
mother all indications of the torture, misery and sorrow 
she had suffered for many years. Mrs. Boynton looked 
up at her with a painful, sorrowful expression for a few 
moments before again speaking. 

“It is a sad, sad story, my dear, but I must tell you,” 
she said softly with a long sigh. 

“When you are stronger, mamma; not to-day. 5 5 


136 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“I must not wait too long,” was her answer. 

“Take this,” Beatrix said, “it will quiet you,” pass- 
ing her some nourishment and medicine the doctor had 
prescribed. Her mother went quietly to sleep again 
under its influence, and slept all the rest of the day and 
night away. The next day she seemed much stronger 
and better. The doctor and Joe had visited her room 
twice, but had found her sleeping quietly each time. 
As the soft twilight came on and the embers of the fire 
were dying out on the hearth, she again awoke and 
looked up longingly at Beatrix. 

“What is it, dear mamma?” she inquired. 

“I want to tell you,” she faintly answered. 

“Not yet; no, not yet, you are still too weak to talk. 
Wait a few days longer,” she pleaded. 

“Yes, my dear, it must be now. I think I should 
not wait longer.” 

“ It is better you should not talk. That is the doctor’s 
advice,” she persisted. 

“Delays are dangerous,” she said. Mrs. Boynton 
sat up in bed, supported by pillows, and began to relate 
her sad history. “When young I was very happy. I 
had good advantages, being the only daughter of a very 
indulgent father, who was a merchant in Boston. He 
had ample means to educate me, but lost everything in 
a panic two years after my marriage. He died a few 
months later of a broken heart. My mother having died 
when I was a mere child, I only have a very faint rec- 
ollection of her, hut have heard much that was good of 
her. On my father’s deathbed, he called me to his 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


137 


side to give me good advice. ‘Irena, lam well pleased 
that I leave you with such a good husband and protec- 
tor,’ he said. ‘Do your duty always and on all occa- 
sions diffuse comfort and blessing on your household.’ 
These were the last words on his dying lips. I always 
remembered them, and have tried to do my duty. I 
hope I have succeeded.” Her voice ceased, tears rolled 
down her cheeks one by one, her hands dropped to her 
side, and she was too much weakened to continue for 
some moments. 

“You have told me much to-day. You are very tired. 
Can you not wait until some other time to tell me the 
rest?” pleaded Beatrix. 

“Some other time may never come,” she sadly said. 
She again commenced in a nervous, excited tone. 
“Your father met and married when quite young, not 
being of le ” 

“This must not be. I cannot allow it,” the doctor 
said, interrupting her as he entered the room, and 
seated himself beside Mrs. Boynton. “She is too ex- 
cited, very feverish. Her pulse runs fast. What has 
she been talking about? Why have you encouraged 
it?” he said to Beatrix. “Why does she have the de- 
sire to talk so much? It only defers her recovery. I 
cautioned you to keep her quiet. She must take some- 
thing at once to soothe and quiet her.” 

Mrs. Boynton looked beseechingly at the doctor, drew 
her hand wearily across her forehead and murmured : 

“I must tell; I must tell the rest,” and threw her 
head over on one side and went to sleep exhausted. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


J 38 

“Your mother is very weak, very weak indeed / ’ said 
the doctor, but there seems to be something on her mind 
that tortures, torments her. It may be a relief to her 
to disclose it. I cannot tell. I am nonplussed. I am 
going to give her everything in my power to strengthen 
her, and I hope in a few days she may be strong enough 
to talk and relieve her mind of that which she is so 
anxious to say. See that she has her medicine in con- 
formity to rule, and I will see her again soon,” he 
added, when leaving. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN 


139 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A few days had passed. Mrs. Boynton seemed 
much stronger and brighter. It was yet early when she 
awoke. Beatrix was by her side. The day was dark 
and gloomy. The morning moved slowly onward ; the 
dark, shadowy hues played mournfully across the bed 
through the closed shutters as she again propped her- 
self up amid the pillows to continue her sad story. 

“Your father was not quite twenty years old when 
he met and married a woman nearly eight years his 
senior, much against his parents’ wishes. She was a 
very mercenary woman, and knew he would come into 
possession of some money at the death of his parents, 
although not a very large amount, but he had a small 
fortune of his own at the time he was married, an uncle 
having died and left to him his property as his name- 
sake, and he became a partner in his father’s business 
house in Scotland, which brought him also a very good 
income. The marriage proved to be a very unhappy 
one. He found her to be self-willed, high-tempered 
and very unreasonable. Their married life was any- 
thing but a blissful one. They lived together not quite 
two years, and then separated on condition that he would 
give her a certain amount yearly for her support, and 
that she should leave England to live in America. 


140 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Nearly a year after, while she w T as coming to this coun- 
try, the steamer was shipwrecked and all on board were 
supposed to be lost. At that time I was traveling with 
my father pleasure seeking, and while in England we 
met Mr. Boynton at a hotel where we were guests. 
We both fell in love and were married in less than four 
months after we first met. ,, Mrs. Boynton threw her 
head back with a deep sigh and reached her hand out 
for some wine. 

“You have talked a long, long time, mamma dear; 
you are too weak to exert yourself so much. If you 
could only tell me little by little day after day, then 
you would not get so fatigued. Please do not talk any 
more to-day; to-morrow you can tell the rest,” again 
pleaded Beatrix. 

“No, my dear daughter, I dare not delay. I know 
not how long I shall be with you. We came here to 
my present home to live, where my two children were 
born,” she slowly continued. “We lived here for four 
years and traveled abroad for a year. We had five 
years of uninterrupted happiness. I returned to this 
country and to this house, where I have ever since 
lived. As soon as his first wife, whom he had supposed 
to be drowned, heard he was married, she went to him 
and demanded more money and a separation from me, 
which, of course, I also desired, under the circum- 
stances. ’ ’ She sighed deeply again and closed her eyes, 
as if to shut the past from her memory. “It was a ter- 
rible blow to me. I have never seen him since, for I 
loved him very dearly, and I knew if I ever should 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


141 


allow myself to again see him my love would conquer 
my principles. His first wife, with one other, were the 
only survivors of the passengers that were on board. 
She was picked up in an exhausted condition, and after 
many hours was resuscitated. She had suffered so 
much from exposure, danger and fright that she lost 
her reason for a time, and was confined in an insane 
asylum, but her reason gradually came back to her, and 
she was restored to health. You now know the secret, 
my daughter, I have kept so cautiously from you,” 
Mrs. Boynton said wearily and sorrowfully. Every 
word she had uttered so solemnly in the stillness of that 
silent chamber went to Beatrix’s heart like a deep stab. 

“ When you know that death is near,” Mrs. Boynton 
added, ‘ 4 grant me this request. Send for him and let 
me once again see him before I die.” Her voice sank 
lower and lower as she spoke. “If I should die with- 
out seeing him, give him my blessing and tell him I 
loved him fondly, devotedly to the end ; not a day, not 
an hour but my thoughts have been with him. Tell 
his wife I forgive her for all the anguish she has made 
me endure.” 

The last words were softly said, and when finished 
she sank back in the pillows and sobbed bitterly. 

“My dear mamma, did it ever occur to you that there 
might be some mistake about the woman who calls her- 
self Boynton?” said Beatrix hopefully. 

Mrs. Boynton immediately stopped weeping, raised 
her head, opened wide her large, lustrous eyes and 
looked at Beatrix in perfect surprise. 


H2 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“What do you mean, dear? How could there beany 
mistake? It could not be possible. Mr. Boynton has 
seen her, talked with her, had business with her. Why 
did you say that, dear?” 

“I hardly can explain why I did. I may be hop- 
ing against hope. I was thinking that Joe had 
intimated that he expected to relate some very good 
news to us in a few days. I have wondered many times 
what it could be,” she replied thoughtfully. 

“I do not know what my dear boy has to tell us, but 
I am quite sure he cannot unravel this tangled skein. 
If I could have even the slightest doubt, I think I could 
die perfectly hapny, but I have not,” she said softly, 
and again buried her head in the pillow and wept. 

Beatrix did not betray the agony she was suffering. 
Her mother saw no trace of the torture she had endured. 
Speaking to her in a low, calm voice she said : “Why 
could you not have told me all this before and let me 
bear this great burden with you, dear mamma?” 

“It seemed such a dreadful thing to tell you, my 
dear. I have thought much and often about it, but 
could not bring my mind to speak of it. I thought you 
were far happier in ignorance.” 

“No, mamma; it would have given me happiness to 
think that I was helping you bear this great suffering 
of the heart for which you were not responsible.” 

“My dear, happiness is not a thing to be commanded 
at will,” she answered with sadness. “I have tried to 
bear this great sorrow with fortitude. We must look 
beyond all this for happiness.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


143 


“ You hav« committed no sin, for you were ignorant 
of the facts. Therefore you have done no wrong, as 
the situation was not known to you at the time of your 
marriage,’ ’ said Beatrix, trying to cheer, comfort and 
console her mother. 

“No, my dear, I have been the victim of circum- 
stances. I have suffered as few others have ever been 
forced to suffer. It has been a heavy cross, but it will 
soon be ended, very soon,” she said mournfully. 

“I hope you will live many years, my dear mamma. 
I hope and think you will grow stronger now you have 
relieved your mind of your sad history. I feel very 
bitterly against the woman who has caused you all this 
life of misery. She should have relinquished her 
claim and should not have severed the tie that bound 
two together by the affection of the heart. Her 
demeanor has made many unhappy, miserable.” 

“Mr. Boynton pleaded hour after hour. He tried to 
reason with her, and offered her additional sums if she 
would get a divorce. On account of my children, he 
argued, but it was useless. She would not consent, she 
would not listen to one word. She reproached him for 
having married again, and told him that he had greatly 
wronged her. How she could consider it so I know not. 
He is not a man to designedly do injustice to any one. 
She tried every possible way to influence him to again 
come and live with her. I am so weak, so weak,” she 
feebly said, as she laid her pale, wan face down amid 
the pillows. 

Beatrix silently pointed to the little clock on the 


144 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


mantel as it was striking the hour of 12. 4 ‘You can 

see, mamma, that you have talked a long time and 
you are very much wearied. I hope you will be very 
much better before long. You must take medicine now 
and rest.” 

When her mother was quieted and asleep, Beatrix 
gave vent to her feelings and sobbed and sobbed two 
long hours away. She at last thought she knew the 
terrible truth. 

“I am then what I so often feared. How can I bear 
this hard fate? Would not death be a relief? I am yet 
young, a long life before me perhaps; and what is such 
a life worth? If my dear, dear mamma should die, 
then I should have no earthly tie but my brother, and 
he does not need any assistance ; he can fight his way 
alone in the world. Why was I the one to be brought 
to bear so much suffering? I must never allow myself 
to again see Carl Clayton, for he would not stoop to 
link his fate with one who is of such an unfortunate 
birth. I have loved him as I never can love again. He 
had the affections of my early youth. The stain on my 
name he must not know. There are many who have 
suffered unspoken pain of mind and heart as well as 
myself. I do not know as a gleam of sunshine or pleas- 
ure will ever cross my pathway again,” and then she 
remembered the words of her brother, which were : “I 
expect to have very good news for you soon, which will 
make you very happy,” and a flash of sudden hope 
kindled within her. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


145 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Beatrix inquired, as 
her mother slowly opened her eyes and looked earnestly 
at her. 

“ I do not know as I am much better, dear. I am so 
very weak. Where is my son?” she inquired. “I 
have not seen him for nearly two days.” 

“He has been to see you often, mamma, but you were 
always asleep, and as he thought you needed the rest, he 
would not awaken you ; and he has so little time. He 
is so very busy,” she answered. 

“Busy!” she exclaimed in wonderment. “Busy, did 
you say, dear?” 

“Well — yes — that is, he is out a great deal.” 

“I do not understand what he can be doing,” Mrs. 
Boynton replied, looking perplexed. 

“I can hardly explain to you what the nature of the 
business is,” replied Beatrix doubtfully. 

“Did he not tell you why his time was so much em- 
ployed?” inquired Mrs. Boynton, looking astonished. 

Beatrix hesitated. She could not accurately answer. 
“You know, mamma, Joe is always busy about some- 
thing, or about nothing, if it is only sport. I am quite 
sure he will be at home very soon, as it is nearly dinner 


146 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


time, and he said it would not be late when he returned. 
He may have news to interest us.” 

“He always interests me. I must not go to sleep 
again until I see my dear boy,” she replied wearily. 

An hour passed when the door opened softly and Joe 
entered the room on tiptoe. Going to his mother’s bed- 
side he kissed her tenderly, and whispered closely in 
her ear for some moments. Whatever it was, it was 
very soothing. Her face brightened up like sunshine 
after a shower. But Beatrix could not have much hope 
that it would last, as the doctor had given them no en- 
couragement. “She has received too great a shock. It 
is only a question of time,” he had said. 

“That is very good news, Joe, if it can be true. I 
should be very happy if I could only think that, but 
I cannot,” Mrs. Boynton replied dubiously. 

“Yes, mamma, I think I shall be able to confirm that 
startling good news before very long. It has required 
a great deal of labor, and many weeks of irksome per- 
severance, but in a few days’ time I hope it will be 
ended.” 

“I am sure you are mistaken. I cannot have any 
hope after all these long years of sorrow. 1 do not have 
a shadow of a doubt of its untruth, since it would have 
been found out long years before. ” Her voice was very 
sad and feeble as she answered. 

“It was impossible for you and others to think there 
could be so much trickery and wickedness in this world, 
and simply for that reason and that alone no one has 
doubted her story or taken the trouble to investigate it. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


147 


I should have searched it out if it had taken every hour 
of a long life, when once I found that there was a thread 
of doubt. Let your son alone for that, mamma,” said 
he in a confident tone. 

“I may never live to know the truth, whether good 
or bad,’’ she feebly replied. 

“My dear mamma, I hope you are going to live 
many years. It will not be more than a day or two be- 
fore I know all, as there is only one party now who can 
give me any more information on the subject, and that 
will determine who is to take possession of that individ- 
ual whom we are all so anxious to claim. I have inter- 
viewed several persons and he is the last on the list.” 

“Have you seen her again? What will she say?” 
she whispered. 

“I will go and sing to her ‘Sweet By and By,’ the 
next time I honor her with a call,” Joe smilingly 
answered. 

“How can I believe it?” she exclaimed, in a tone of 
nervous excitement. “If it is only true, only true, I 
can see him once more before I die. How happy is the 
thought to me. I loved him so much, no one ever 
knew how much. He will come back to me. I know 
he will as soon as he can. I must rest and try to get 
well and look bright,” she faintly said, as she again 
closed her eyes. 

“Beatrix,” said Joe, following her into her room, 
closing the door after him and leaving his mother 
alone with the nurse, “I expect to prove that this Mrs. 
Boynton number one, as she calls herself, was married 


143 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


before she met our father, although professing to be 
single at the time.” 

“What did you say?” cried Beatrix in amazement, 
brushing away the tears that had dimmed her eyes at 
the thought of her mother’s illness and suffering. “Is 
that a possible story you are relating to me?” and her 
whole face lighted up with an expression of happiness. 

“It is possible and quite probable, I am happy to say. 
She was married before, that I know, and I am almost 
certain that her husband was living at the time she was 
married the second time. That is the last and only 
thing I am anxious to learn now, the precise date of her 
husband’s death, and there is only one party who can 
give me the desired information. If you remember, I 
sent for him early in the fall. It is now long after the 
time for him to arrive. He is a brother of her first hus- 
band and went to Australia with him. I want to see 
him personally. Then I will know there is no mistake. 
If I am correct, her second marriage was illegal.” 

“Ah! but if you were only positive,” said she earn- 
estly. 

“But I shall know in a few days positively, if the 
steamer arrives safely.” 

“You must not forget to write to-night, as it is 
mamma’s ardent wish to see her husband before she 
dies.” 

“I shall write to him this evening, and explain every 
detail, as well as mamma’s sickness, although I shall 
not say her death is hourly expected, as I do not think 
that. He says he has remained away at his wife’s re- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


149 


quest, and is very anxious to again be with us all. It 
may be so.” 

“I feel no small amount of anxiety at the thought of 
his coming. The excitement of seeing him I fear will 
hasten her death, while the expectation may prolong 
her life,” she replied. 

“My hope is that she may live many years. I can- 
not be reconciled to her death. That her desire to see 
him before she dies will be granted is my sincere wish, 
but the wisest can tell little of the future,” said 
Joe. 

4 4 Could we foresee one day before another, or an hour, 
or even a minute, we could then make our lives less 
bitter; but we sometimes unwisely yield to that which 
looks bright and makes us happy for the moment, re- 
gardless of the future, and we can only look forward 
with hope, but backward with grief,” said she, with 
a sigh. 

“You must not always look on the dark side, Beatrix; 
your young life may have been imbittered, but there 
may be a silver lining to the future. I manage to get 
considerable pleasure here. The world is beautiful. 
You must take people as you find them, and not be in- 
fluenced by any thought of human caprice. Every- 
thing looks brighter now, as you can well see, except- 
ing our dear mamma’s sickness. I shall hope as long 
as there is life that she may recover.” 

“Yes, somewhat brighter,” she replied thoughtfully. 
“I think you told me you had gained some knowledge 
in regard to that other Mrs. Boynton while abroad, and 


150 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


I interrupted your conversation, but I am deeply inter- 
ested to hear the story.” 

“Yes, I received some information while in Scotland 
from the wife of a brother of hers long since dead, who 
was living in very humble circumstances. She had 
lived there only two years, however. She said she had 
often heard her husband speak of his sister, and she told 
me her history as follows as near as she could remem- 
ber, as she had never seen or spoken to her. She had 
married when young a man named Terhune. He was 
poor, but industrious and of good repute. She soon 
tired of him, took her maiden name, which was Sheldon, 
and went to London, where she fell in with a 
wealthy man, who supplied her with ample means 
to live in style. When he tired of her he gave her 
a small amount to live on for awhile. Soon after 
she met and married a wealthy man by the name of 
Boynton, she said, but she had heard little of her since, 
as she had discarded all of her relatives and would not 
recognize them when she saw them. This woman 
knew that Mr. Terhune was dead, but could not answer 
the important question I asked. She could not tell me 
the date of his death nor at what place he had died. 
There was one other brother living in Australia, who 
had gone there with him, but she could not give me his 
address, so I found little satisfaction there. 

“During our short stay in Paris as I strolled leisurely 
along unemployed through an obscure street looking in 
at the windows, I saw the name of Terhune on a sign- 
board over a shoe store. I sauntered in and made ^ 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


151 


small purchase and inquired for the owner, but, unfor- 
tunately, he was out. A day or two after I went again, 
but met with the same answer. I did not want to ex- 
cite too much curiosity. I therefore ordered some shoes 
made, which would call me there again.” 

“What a remarkable occurrence!” Beatrix said, as 
she sat listening to her brother, profoundly interested. 

“It was extraordinary indeed that I should stumble 
upon the name accidentally. It was a fortunate event. 

“A few days after I was more successful. I found 
Mr. Terhunein; he was behind his desk busily writing. 
After one of the clerks had pointed him out to me, I 
went directly up to him, and commenced a conversa- 
tion. I told him that his name was very familiar, and 
inquired of him if he had any relatives in England or 
Australia. He looked at me inquiringly, but made no 
reply. 

“ ‘I hope you do not consider that I am asking ques- 
tions that are impertinent?’ I said. 

“He hesitated. ‘I have little time to make answers 
to questions except on business,’ he replied, rather 
gruffly. 

“ ‘I am a customer here, and was attracted by your 
name, ’ I made answer. 

“He smiled. ‘Did you say you had made purchases 
here?’ he inquired. 

“ ‘Yes, sir, I have bought some shoes, and I am very 
much pleased with what I have seen here and wish to 
make more purchases. ’ 

“ ‘Ah! take a seat, take a seat,’ he said, extending 


isa 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


his right hand to me, while with the left he motioned 
me to a chair, and came from behind his desk and 
seated himself beside me. I felt that I had won his 
good will and could ask questions without number. 

‘ ‘ ‘ I am anxious to obtain the address of a man of 
your name. Not anything to his disadvantage; on the 
contrary, it may be of assistance to him, ’ I said. 

“ ‘Certainly, certainly, I am very glad to answer 
any questions I can,’ he answered, pleasantly. ‘I have 
a cousin in Sydney, Australia, who formerly lived in 
England. I do not know as that is the man you are 
looking for.’ 

“ ‘That is the very person I am seeking,’ I replied. 

“ ‘ I have his address in my memorandum book, as 
I have a correspondence with him,’ he said, going to 
his desk and taking the book out. 

“ ‘I suppose you could not tell me the date of his 
brother’s death who was living there with him,’ I in- 
quired, 

“‘I am sorry to say I cannot, but if you will 
write to this address I will give you, August Terhune, 
I am sure he will answer willingly any questions you 
require,’ at the same moment passing me a small slip 
of paper with the address on. Thanking him I left 
with a small purchase under my arm, and the priceless 
little bit of paper in my pocket. 

“I went back to the hotel and immediately wrote to 
him, and in due time received a response that he would 
accept my offer and come to this country by the next 
steamer. I was really discouraged. I thought I should 


that other woman. 


153 


never find out anything until I met this man who kept 
the shoe store. I think I have told you all I can at 
present, Beatrix. Was it not a strange accident that I 
should run across the name?” 

“That was very singular, Joe; that was simply 
chance,” she said in wonderment. 

“Yes, of all the singular things in this life, chance is 
the most strange*” 




t 


154 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The hour was late, the clock had chimed the hour of 
1 when Joe bade his sister good-night and left her alone. 
The important letter had been forgotten, and was left 
unwritten, so interested were they. “No one knows 
what a day may bring forth,” Beatrix murmured, as 
she thought of the strangeness of the narrative just re- 
lated, and sat by the window with her elbows resting 
on the dark crimson plush of the cushion on the arm of 
the large upholstered easy chair, her chin resting on 
her hands, and her beautiful face upturned to the sky, 
watching the clouds floating hither and thither or turn- 
ing her glance out over the beautiful park this lovely 
moonlight night, to see the fountain playing and the 
moon shining placid and serene from a cloudless sky 
of deep blue, forming a picture of gentle loveliness, and 
sighing the time away until she should know all. 

When she awoke the next morning it was late; it was 
a half-hour after 9. The day was bright. The golden 
sunbeams shone brightly into the room. Her first 
thought was of the unwritten letter. What if he had 
forgotten it? If it should reach him too late, what a 
mistake that would be? Even a few minutes’ delay in 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


155 


the mailing of a foreign letter might deprive her dear 
mamma from ever seeing him in this life. She hur- 
riedly dressed herself and ran downstairs to the break- 
fast room. All was quiet. The table was prepared 
with its pretty breakfast cloth. There was a tempting 
dish of fruit and plates set for one only. There was no 
sound to be heard but the chirping and singing of the 
canary birds in the adjoining room. 

“Where is my brother Joe?” she inquired anxiously 
of the servant as she entered the room. 

“He ate his breakfast in a great hurry, Miss Beatrix, 
an hour ago, and left the house,” she answered. 

After learning that her mother, if not better, was not 
any worse, she took her solitary breakfast with only a 
servant in attendance. After it was over she went 
noiselessly up to her mother’s room and quietly took a 
seat by her bedside. Looking at her pale, sad face as 
she was sleeping, her heart heat with tender reminis- 
cences. “How kind, gentle and forbearing she has 
always been with me and my brother in our thoughtless 
childhood. How willing to overlook my many faults. 
How patiently she has borne her great suffering of the 
heart. How noble, unselfish and self-sacrificing her life 
has been. If I can follow her example, then my life 
will be one complete victory.” Thus she meditated. 

The day was long. The hours moved slowly. She 
thought her brother would never come, as she watched 
and waited anxiously for the sound of footsteps. She 
listened to the old timepiece of a hundred years, as the 
last stroke of 9 died away in the hall below. Moments, 


156 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


minutes passed, and yet he did not come. The hour of 
10 was striking when she heard light footsteps on the 
stairs. Rushing out to meet him, she exclaimed : 

“The letter, the letter, Joe. I hope you have not for- 
gotten it. I have been so impatient. I thought you 
would never come. Why were you so late?” 

“Iam making the most of my time, Beatrix,” he 
answered pettishly. 

“The letter,” again she cried, as he did not seem to 
notice that she had mentioned it. “I fear you have not 
written it. If I had only known the address, I should 
most certainly have written myself this morning.” 

Joe gave a low whistle. “I will go at once and write 
and mail it to-night ; it will go by the steamer to-mor- 
row. I admit it had escaped my mind. It will only 
make a difference of a day in time.” 

“There is not a moment to be lost. You know 
mamma’s life is fast ebbing away, and I am fearful she 
will die before he ” 

“Don’t say that, Beatrix, don’t,” interrupting her. 
“I could not have given the facts if I had written. It 
is very unfortunate; the steamer was due to-day, but 
did not arrive as expected. I have been watching for 
its arrival all the long day, since the person who is to 
come is the only one that can give me positive proof of 
the date of the death, and I hope to get every detail 
and all the information I desire as soon as he arrives. 
I am sorry it so happened, but I am almost confident 
that it will be here to-morrow.” 

“I regret that I have been so impatient. I am sure 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 35 ? 

you deserve much credit for your perseverance and hard 
work,” she answered. 

“You must remember that it takes months to send to 
Australia and get a return answer,” Joe replied, as he 
took his pen to write. 

The next day came and yet the steamer did not arrive. 

“If mamma can only live to know the truth, if satis- 
factory, and see her husband once more, I shall be well 
content,” Beatrix said to Joe the next night. 

“I am greatly grieved at the delay,” he said in a 
tone of disappointment. “It ought to have been here 
two days ago, but I shall know to-morrow without fail, 
as the steamer has been sighted and will be here early 
in the morning, and your brother Joe will be sure to be 
on hand to meet it. There is only one thing I am 
anxious to know, the year of Mr. Terhune’s death, 
which I hope to prove was nearly five years after his 
wife’s marriage to my father.” 

“That is almost too good news to believe, Joe. That 
one thought almost makes me happy. I could cry out 
with joy. The thought of my birth made me very 
miserable; it seemed unbearable, insufferable to me. 
It took away every charm of my existence. I could 
take but little interest even in the innocent pleasures of 
this life, as the thought was ever before me. I can 
hardly believe in its truth. I think if it should prove 
to be false now after so much expectancy, I should 
waste away into nothing and vanish into space. Dear, 
dear mamma’s few remaining days here will be more 
peaceful after she knows this to be true. Was that 


158 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


what made her look so happy when you whispered to 
her the day before yesterday?” 

‘‘Yes; I thought best to tell her little by little, since 
in her weak state any unusual excitement or over- 
wrought expectation might prove dangerous,” he re- 
plied. 

“If your father comes, as of course, he will, we must 
break the news gently to her, not let him rush uncere- 
moniously into the room ; the excitement might prove 
instant death,” said Beatrix. 

“She is so very weak, it might delay her recovery. I 
shall try and keep him downstairs a few hours after he 
arrives so as to prepare her for the interview as mildly 
as I can,” said Joe. 

“I am so anxious, so curious, to see how he looks, I 
hardly know how to act when I receive him, since he 
seems almost a perfect stranger to me. What will you 
say, Joe, to him? What shall I say? Must I call him 
father? That would be perfectly proper, of course,” she 
inquired, in a tone of nervous excitement. 

“Assuredly call him father. I have always addressed 
him as such, and he always calls me his son in his 
letters.” 

“But it seems so very odd to me. It would be very 
abrupt for me to rush to him and say ‘father’ when first 
we met. It frightens me a little to think of it. I am 
so little used to it.” 

“You might practice a little on the name before he 
comes. What did j t ou expect to call him, gargon ?” 
said Joe, laughing. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


159 


“I suppose I must be rather affectionate toward him, 
as I know it is my dear mamma’s wish, and even now 
she will not utter one word of reproach against the 
woman who has wrecked her whole life,” she said. 

“She possesses a very lovely, amiable disposition. I 
cannot feel toward that woman any charity, any kind- 
ness. I feel the most bitter enmity against her, and I 
sincerely hope she will have as much suffering as she 
has caused my poor mamma to endure. Forgive her? 
never,” said Joe angrily. 

“If this is all a mistake?” said Beatrix, in a whis- 
per, looking straight at Joe. 


160 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The next morning it was dark and dreary. There 
was a heavy rainstorm. The air was full of ice and 
sleet. The wind blew strong and cold. As the clock 
was striking the early hour of 6, Beatrix heard foot- 
steps going rapidly downstairs, heard the outer door 
open and close, heard a carriage whirl swiftly away. 
As she listened, her heart went out in warm sympathy 
for her brother, braving the cold, the wind, the sleet on 
such a dismal day, sacrificing his time and pleasure for 
her and others, as he had said: “It is not for myself 
that I care, but for the rights of others that are dear to 
me.” 

She descended the stairs a few hours later, and met 
one of the servants in the hallway. “I hope my 
brother took something to eat or drink before going out 
this disagreeable morning?” she said. 

“No, mum, he did not,” said the servant. “He 
came down in a great hurry, looking scared like and 
told the coachman to go quick for a cab. He said the 
weather was too bad for his own horse to be taken out. 
Miss Beatrix,” she lowered her tone as she added, “I 
think your brother is a little flighty, a little gone here,” 
putting her hand up to the side of her head and gently 
tapping it. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


161 


Beatrix smiled. “I think you are mistaken, Mary. 
I give him credit for being the brightest one in the 
family. His head is well balanced. You cannot un- 
derstand his impatience, his hurry, of late; but it will 
soon be over I hope.” 

Joe did not return until noon, and then with a 
strange man, whose appearance was repulsive. His 
red, bloated face and swollen nose, a large low, soft 
felt hat drawn low down over his forehead, made him 
look anything but attractive. He was very stout and 
rather short. He had red hair and red whiskers, which 
seemed to correspond in color with the redness of his 
skin. Joe took him into the library, closed and locked 
the door behind him to keep out intruders, and remained 
alone with him until after dusk. Beatrix was growing 
very impatient. “Will he ever go, or will he talk for- 
ever?” she murmured, as she softly walked to and fro 
in the hall, listening anxiously for some sound. She 
could only hoar the low murmurs of voices, as they came 
faintly through the closed door. A moment later to 
her great relief, she heard the door unlock and heavy 
footsteps traverse the lower hallway and pass out of 
the front door. 

“I know you have heard very good news. I can see 
it in your face,” she said to Joe as he came upstairs. 

“Yes, I have found out all at last. Ha! ha! ha!” 

“ I ha ve not heard that old familiar laugh for many 
weeks,” said Beatrix. 

“At last,” he repeated, drawing a long breath and 
throwing himself down in a comfortable, easy chair in 


162 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


his sister’s room. He was tired, h© was weary and 
worn out from anxiety and the two past sleepless 
nights. 

“This man to whom I have just been talking,” he 
added, “and for whom I have patiently, anxiously been 
watching for a week past, is Mr. Terhune.” 

“He took a long time to journey here, much longer 
than necessary, I think, when it was so important he 
should come as speedily as possible; but do tell me all 
about him,” said Beatrix, with a little impatience. 

“I think it was a little inconsistent myself for him to 
take so long to come, but it is a long distance. How- 
ever, he was very glad of the opportunity, and he de. 
sired to take advantage of the occasion to visit some 
friends in England. All the questions I have put to 
him he has answered satisfactorily, and I now know all 
I have so long wished to learn. He is a brother-in-law 
of Mrs. Terhune. While he is not a refined man, he is 
not such a bad fellow as his appearance would indicate. 
He keeps a bar at a large hotel in Sydney. This brother, 
that was the husband of this woman who had the im- 
pudence to call herself Boynton, was a man of good 
habits and very industrious, but not successful in busi- 
ness. He started a small store of fancy articles twice, 
but failed both times, and his wife was dissatisfied with 
the small amount of money he was able to give her. 
After she was able to obtain money from other sources 
for herself, she gave him enough to go to Australia and 
commence again in business in a small way, on condi- 
tion that he would never annoy her again. He will- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


163 


ingly kept his promise, for she made his life miserable 
while they lived together.” 

“I think mamma is awake, and it might brighten 
her up to hear such joyful news,” said Beatrix. 

“Come into her room and you can together listen to 
my story, as it is such delightful tidings that it may be 
the means of her recovery.” He arose with a languid 
air, opened the door softly into his mother’s room, and 
found her awake, watching for him. She was sitting 
up in bed supported by pillows. She was still very 
weak and only able to sit up a few moments at a time. 

“Well, mamma, I hope you feel better,” said Joe, 
leaning over the bed and kissing her affectionately. 

“I feel very weak, my dear son. I hope I may gain 
strength for my dear children’s sake,” she answered 
sorrowfully, gently stroking his hair the while. 

“Yes, dear mamma, I hope and expect you will be 
much better after you hear the bright, cheerful news I 
have to tell you,” replied Joe. 

“I should be pleased to hear any good news, my 
dear, that interests you,” she slowly answered. 

“But it greatly interests you, too, as well as the rest 
of the family. Do you feel strong enough to listen to 
quite a long story, mamma?” 

“Yes, my dear. I have rested quietly all day. I 
am very comfortable in this position. I think I can sit 
here for an hour or so and listen to you,” she said, 
drawing a long sigh. 

Joe drew a chair beside the bed, and taking her 
hand, gently held it while he related the facts to her as 


164 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


he had previously told them to Beatrix. * ‘ I have the 
exact date of Mr. Terhune’s death,” he continued, “and 
it was just five years after you were married to my 
father. And now, mamma, dear, you have everything 
to live for. You are his lawful wife, and we are his 
children. I will telegraph him at once to come and 
live with us the rest of his life.” 

Mrs. Boynton looked up at Joe doubtfully, dreamily, 
as if dazed, for some moments, in silence. Her face 
wore a deadly pallor from excitement. Her large, sad 
eyes opened wide with amazement. Not a sound came 
from those in the sick room. The silence was intense, 
profound. The melancholy winds whistled mournfully 
around the house this gloomy, dismal night. Only the 
sound of raindrops could be heard as they pattered drop 
by drop against the casements. 

She drew her hand softly, slowly across her forehead 
as if to collect her thoughts, still looking at Joe inquir- 
ingly, but yet was quite silent. “Am I dreaming?” 
she at last said, and her voice sank to a low whisper 
as she added, “or is this merely a joke?” 

“It is all as I have told you, dear mamma. Father 
will come and live with us the rest of your life,” Joe 
slowly repeated in answer to her question and inquiring 
look. 

Mrs. Boynton started up, sprang out of bed upon her 
feet with nervous agitation, to the utter astonishment 
of all, with unnatural strength, and her dark eyes 
looked supernaturally bright and large as she walked 
alone across the room, saying : “I must live. I must 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


165 


live. I am so happy, so happy to think of it. If I can 
only see my darling husband aga— -” Her voice died 
away before she could finish the last sentence, her trem- 
bling limbs gave way and she fell upon the floor from 
utter weakness. 

“What shall we do?” cried Beatrix. “I am afraid 
she is dead.” 

“I think she has only fainted. Get some camphor, 
get some water,” said Joe, in excited tones, as he 
took her fragile form up in his arms and tenderly car- 
ried her to the bed. 

She soon recovered, slowly opened wide her large 
eyes, looked all around, then rested them on Joe for a 
moment ; then again tried to spring out of bed, but it 
was impossible for her to even lift her head from the 
pillow, so weakened was she from overexertion. A 
smile passed over her lips, lighting up the whole sweet 
face as she again spoke. “Am I to see my own, my 
own beloved husband once again? I have loved him so 
much, so long, in silence. Is he mine, wholly mine, 
or is it simply imagination? Is it true, all true?” she 
eagerly whispered. 

“It is all true, every word, dear mamma,” replied 
Joe, “but you must obey the doctor’s orders and keep 
very quiet if you expect to get well. Father, I am sure, 
will come as soon as he can, but he cannot possibly get 
here before a week.” 

“My dear children, I am so pleased to know that if I 
die you will have the protection of a good, kind father, 
which you will need, and have been deprived of for so 


166 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


many years. If I can only see him once more how 
happy I shall be. He was so kind, so gentle, so true, 
bo generous and brave,” she said, with a deep pathos in 
her voice, and tears gathered in her eyes. 

“But for that wicked, heartless, despicable woman 
your life would have been an unusually happy one,” 
said Joe. 

Mrs. Boynton shivered at the thought, and her form 
trembled as she answered: “She has destroyed a great 
deal of happiness, but I will not condemn her now, as it 
is all over. I have struggled hard. I have forgiven. ” 

“All over! dear mamma,” Joe repeated. “I expect 
the rest of your life will be one of perfect felicity.” 

“How long did you say it would be before I could 
see him?” she inquired with sudden brightness. 

“In about ten days, I think at the longest. I shall 
probably receive an answer to my telegram in a few 
days that will tell us very nearly the time we may ex* 
pect him here.” 

“I must rest, rest, so as to get well and not look so 
tired, so sick, when he comes back to me, his wife.” 

Mrs. Boynton tossed her head wearily to and fro, 
and in a few moments went quietly to sleep, with a 
sweet smile hovering over her closed lips. Her secret 
grief and inconsolable sorrow, borne so bravely alone 
for so many years, had imprinted its fingers too deeply 
on her physical strength to be retarded in its course 


now. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


167 


\ 


CHAPTER XX. 

Beatrix and her brother watched anxiously for three 
days for a dispatch from their father. Every time they 
heard the ring of the door bell it brought them promptly 
to answer its summons, but every time to be disap- 
pointed. 

On the fourth night, after they had all retired to 
their rooms, it being after 11 o’clock, the bell rang 
loudly, and a boy thrust a telegram through the small 
aperture of the door as Joe ran downstairs hastily, and 
cautiously opened it. Beatrix, looking over the stairs 
and seeing the telegram, hurriedly threw a wrap over 
her shoulders, ran down, lit the gas, and they both 
eagerly perused it. It was directed to Joe, and read 
thus : 

“Will take the steamer Wednesday, arriving in 
New York the following Thursday probably, and will 
be in Boston Friday morning. Much love to my dear 
wife and children. Your Father.” 

Beatrix began counting aloud on her fingers the num- 
ber of days it would take before his arrival. “This is 
Wednesday, the day he sails, only eight days before he 
will be with us,” she said with some agitation. 


168 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


‘‘Everything possible must be done to strengthen and 
prolong mamma’s life. It will be such a terrible grief 
and disappointment to him to find her so weak and ill,” 
said Joe. 

“Everything that earthly power can effect shall be 
done, but you know the doctor has told us it was only 
a question of a few days with our poor dear mamma,” 
she answered, suppressing a sob. 

“That would be a most dreadful thing to happen, not 
to see her alive,” he replied, with great emotion. “I 
had hoped and thought she would at least live a year. 
I shall never give up hope while she lives. It will only 
be a week before our father arrives.” 

“I know she cannot live much longer, Joe, and her 
death at any time will not be unexpected to me, 
although I cannot be reconciled, as it will be a great 
loss to us both. She seems to me the only parent I ever 
had. Of course, I feel kindly toward my father now 
after knowing all, but cannot have much affection, not 
even knowing him by sight, and do not think he can 
have much for us. I often wonder how he will treat 
us.” 

“I have not a doubt that he will treat us in the kind- 
est manner, and as for our dear mamma, I have not 
given up in despair yet. While there is life, there is 
alway hopes.” 

“She has never left her bed but once, and that time 
she fainted from exhaustion, since she unfortunately 
heard those few words from that woman, which you 
must remember, ‘I am the true and only Mrs. Boynton. ’ ” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


169 


“I regret that poor mamma should have heard those 
words,” Joe answered tearfully. 

“You have never disclosed to me what that confiden- 
tial letter from father contained as you have so often 
promised.” 

“I can tell you in a very few words, Beatrix. He 
simply stated to me what he thought were facts. The 
same story mamma told you on her sick bed. He sin- 
cerely thought then that that dreadful woman was his 
lawful wife. That is why several letters to him 
brought no response to me. I then wrote and called 
him all the vilest names possible, which brought a quick 
response from him, imploring me not to disclose the 
facts to you concerning your birth, fearing it would 
give you needless unhappiness. It was a very sad, 
kind letter. He also gave me good advice.” 

“How could we have been so uncharitable, unjust, as 
to have misjudged him so. I cannot forgive myself.” 

“I hope to be so kind and dutiful hereafter that he 
will forget the past,” Joe replied, as he closed his door. 

The next day was gloomy and dark, and as Beatrix 
sat alone by her mother’s bedside her thoughts turned 
to Carl Clayton. “Is he living? Is he married? Is 
he happy? Shall I ever see him again? Now all is 
clear I love him more deeply than ever, but it may be 
that he has erased me from his memory and gone from 
me forever. If I could only know. To think that 
woman has wrecked the happiness of three.” 

Mrs. Boynton slowly opened her eyes, looked up at 
Beatrix, and anxiously inquired the time. 


170 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“It is nearly 5 o’clock, and only seven days more, 
dearest mamma, and lie will be with us,” she replied. 

“I have now so much to live for, my dear daughter, 
and yet I sometimes feel as though my strength had 
nearly failed me, but I am very happy to know that I 
shall once again see him on earth. I have often thought 
of the separation. It was very cruel. I suppressed my 
emotion and kept up good courage while he was with 
me, but swooned the moment he had closed the door 
that parted us. ” Her voice sank lower as she added: 
“How I suffered he never knew.” 

She closed her eyes and lay silently thinking. The 
next day and the next she was constantly failing and 
losing strength. The fourth day came, and toward 
night she became unconscious; her eyes moved rest- 
lessly to and fro and occasionally a low moan would 
escape her lips. They all remained by the bedside dur- 
ing the night. All that skill and science could do was 
done to save the life that was so precious to her children, 
but earthly skill is not equal to the universal conqueror; 
victory is his in the end. 

“Doctor, I beseech you, spare her if only fora day 
at least. The happiness of another hangs upon this 
life so dear to us,” Joe said imploringly. 

“I think she will return to consciousness before she 
dies, if only for a few moments,” the doctor had said. 

“Mamma, mamma, can you not speak only one word 
to me before you die?” Joe repeated over and over 
again. The doctors hurriedly held another consultation 
and shook their heads doubtfully. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 171 

“How long, doctor, how long can she live? Can you 
not give us a little hope?” he pleaded. 

“I cannot,” one said solemnly. “It is only a ques- 
tion of a few hours.” There was a wavering between 
despair and hope during all that night until the rays of 
dawn began to peep faintly through the closed shutters, 
when Mrs. Boynton began to show signs of conscious- 
ness. Her lips moved gently and her eyes slowly 
opened and rested on her daughter. She uttered one 
name, “Beatrix.” 

“Yes, dear mamma,” she answered. 

“Has he come?’ she softly inquired. 

“Not yet,” she sadly answered. 

She was silent for a few moments, then continued in 
a very low voice: “Tell her I forgive, and if I die be- 
fore seeing him, tell him I died blessing him and loved 
him to the end. Ah! if he had known how fondly. 
How bitter his absence was, but I kept that all from 
him. He begged me to go to some foreign land and 
live among strangers. I thought that would be against 
the laws of God and man, as I then believed he be- 
longed to another. Let me bless you, my darling 
children,” she softly whispered. Beatrix and Joe knelt 
beside the bed and bent low their heads ; and with kisses 
on their lips, she closed her eyes, never to open them 
again in this world of suffering and sorrow. The long, 
self -enduring, patient, wearied heart was at last at rest. 
She had gone where no evil could touch her now. It 
mattered not whether the long wished for loved one 
came or not. That poor, tired heart had found repose. 


172 THAT OTHER WOMAN. 

Her closed lips wore a smile as though in peace. They 
still knelt, they kissed the cold brow. Hot, burning 
tears coursed down their cheeks. The dread visitor 
always wins the victory. Kings and queens, subjects 
and serfs, fall alike. It enters the sumptuous palaces 
of the wealthy and the hovel of the poor. 

It was drawing toward 12 o’clock Thursday noon, 
and the loved one she had waited so patiently to see for 
many long years would come to find her lifeless clay. 
They watched and waited impatiently all Friday and 
Saturday for that long expected one, but he came not, 
and it had been arranged that the funeral should take 
place Sunday at midday. Sunday morning Beatrix 
and her brother went together into the silent chamber 
where they had spent so many hours with her when in 
life. The dead was not alone. There was one other 
silent, humble mourner that shared their grief, patiently 
watching beside the coffin. It was the faithful dog 
Hector. He had stolen in unnoticed and lay at the foot 
of the bier, almost as silent as the dead, the only sign 
of animation being a long-drawn sigh. Joe patted his 
shaggy coat; he raised his head, looked at him wist- 
fully with his big, brown eyes full of tears, licked his 
hand meekly, and laid his head quietly down again 
upon his forepaws, with another sigh that was more 
sorrowful than words. 

They took one long lingering look and then the lid 
was nailed down that shut out the form and face of 
their dear mother. They had not draped the outer door 
with crape, fearing it would be too great a shock to 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


173 


their father when he arrived, as he had been informed 
of her sickness, but not of her near approaching death. 

“It is 9 o’clock, and our father is not yet here; only 
three hours more before the funeral,” Beatrix said, 
looking anxiously at Joe. 

“He ought to be here. Why doesn’t he come? I am 
so anxious,” he answered, watching the little timepiece 
on the mantle, five, six, ten minutes past. “How 
swiftly the moments fly. Dead and buried. How ter- 
rible the news will be to him.” 

“Could not see her in life. Could not see her in 
death, how sad! how sad!” said Beatrix mournfully, 
as hot tears coursed down her cheeks. 

The hour of 10 was just striking when the heavy 
tread of horses’ feet could be heard as they dashed along 
up to the house, and a tall, slight man with iron-gray 
hair, gray mustache and large, melancholy brown eyes 
alighted. He dismounted from the cab hurriedly, 
looked all around up to the house with a smile on his 
face, then rushed up the steps two at a time, and rang 
the bell violently. 

“It is he! It is he!” whispered Beatrix excitedly, as 
she looked through the closed blinds. 

“We must go and meet him,” said Joe sadly. 

“I fear it will be a great shock. Break the news as 
gently as possible,” she sobbed. 

They walked into the silent hall, down the stairs with 
a noiseless tread, and opening the door softly met their 
father face to face at the entrance, whom they had not 
seen for fifteen years, and of whom they had no recol- 


174 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


lection. There was a smile upon his lips, and he ad- 
dressed them pleasantly. “Good -morning,” he said. 
“ I suppose these are my children. I hope you are both 
well.” 

“Yes, father,” Joe answered solemnly. Mr. Boyn- 
ton embraced them both fondly, as though they were 
only little children, probably thinking of them as when 
he last saw them many years before. 

“Where is your mother? Is she still sick and unable 
to come and meet me?” he inquired cheerfully. 

Joe shook his head mournfully; “She cannot come 
and meet you, father. I will take you to her,” softly 
he said. 

Suddenly putting a hand on each of Joe’s shoulders, 
and looking him full in the face for a few moments in- 
tently, “I think you look like your mother. I am 
pleased to learn it; but what serious faces my children 
wear. Brighten up, my dear boy ; I hope to make your 
future all sunshine. It shall be as you say. I will go 
at once and see your mother, although I am nearly fam- 
ished, as I have not taken a morsel of anything since I 
arose this morning. My only thought was to be with 
you at the earliest possible moment. This is one of the 
happiest days of my life,” Mr. Boynton said gayly, 
patting Joe affectionately on the shoulder the while. 
“Shall we now go and see your mother?” 

Joe looked sadly at him without replying, took him 
by the arm, and they walked slowly up the long flight 
of stairs together, Beatrix following with slow, pensive 
tread. He softly opened the door and silently pointed 


THAT OTHER WOMAN 


175 


to the long coffin draped in black. They heard a deep 
growl from Hector as the door opened, and he saw a 
stranger. Joe took him by the collar and led him from 
the room, leaving Mr. Boynton alone with the dead. A 
low moan broke from the lips of the figure in the dark- 
ened room, he covered his face with his bands, bis 
frame shook, his voice quivered with emotion. “Oh! 
Can it be possible?” he cried. “Is it true? Is that all 
that remains of my beloved wife?” 

His voice sank to a very low tone as he softly mur- 
mured her name. “Irena, Irena, speak, speak, only 
one word, my name. You whom I loved so fondly, so 
dearly.” 

The eyes had no sight. The closed lips had no salu- 
tation for him. 

“She has murdered her,” he hoarsely whispered, 
“How cruel, how cruel.” 

‘ ‘ She forgave her, father, on her deathbed, and I am 
too saddened by this scene to harbor any ill feeling 
toward any one,” said Beatrix, as she again entered the 
room and heard the last sentence. 

“But I must see her face once more before she is 
taken away from us forever,” he said. 

Joe immediately sent for an assistant, and when he 
arrived it was nearly 11 o'clock; he opened the lid, 
revealing her face to his view. It had not changed, 
the same peaceful, sweet smile still lingered about the 
mouth that it had worn ever since her death. 

“Rest, rest undisturbed by any earthly sorrow that 
thou hast borne so silently for many long years, thou 


176 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


gentle, weary, sinless soul,” Mr. Boynton uttered in 
broken sobs. He kissed her passionately, knelt beside 
her, softly repeating her name again and again, and 
wept bitter tears. 

Beatrix and Joe walked quietly out of the room and 
left him alone in the presence of the dead, for only one 
short hour, and then they laid her away in her last 
sleep in the beautiful burial ground at Forest Hills. 

“We will all live together, my dear children, and 
try if possible to forget the sad past,” he said a few 
days later. “The separation was very cruel. I 
pleaded with your mother many hours to go to some 
foreign land where we were not known, and live in 
quietude, but my pleadings were all in vain. I never 
fully consented to leave her until she nearly convinced 
me by her coldness that her affection for me was weak- 
ened and dead.” 

“I never can or shall forgive that woman who has 
caused my mother so much suffering for so many years, 
and sent her to an early grave,” Joe said. 

“I am too overburdened with grief to censure her 
now, but I cannot forgive as that good pious soul has 
done who has gone from us forever,” Mr. Boynton re- 
plied. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


177 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The house was still, the hour was late, the night was 
dark, the winds sighed mournfully, while the figure of 
a woman, closely veiled, could be seen walking back- 
ward and forward with slow steps, or crouched low in 
the dark shadows beneath the windows, watching 
anxiously a dimly lighted room. 

Intense silence reigned throughout. Everything 
seemed hushed. Every one was asleep in the household 
save one. He had just returned in his carriage, and 
entered his room, leaving the coachman to bar the win- 
dows and doors. He seated himself by an open desk, 
with his head bowed, resting on his hands, deep in 
thought. The dying embers of the fire in the grate had 
burned low, and turned to gray ashes. The dim low 
lights were all in harmony with his own sad thoughts. 
A picture of a beautiful woman not over twenty- 
five stood on the desk beneath him, and a tear 
dropped on the faec. He rose, walked softly to the 
window, drew the curtain aside and looked out. There 
was a black figure slowly passing on the opposite side 
of the street. It was a woman. 

“Poor creature! poor creature! she seems to be in 
distress, ’ 5 thought he. He returned to his desk to again 


178 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


gaze at the picture before him. The clock was striking 
the midnight hour of 12 when he was startled by a soft 
tap at the door. “What was that?” he nervously 
whispered. “Surely no one would come at such an 
hour and on such a dark, dismal night. I must have 
been mistaken or dreaming. My nerves are weakened, 
overtaxed, and I am almost madder ed with my past 
grief.” 

He slowly raised his head, noiselessly leaned forward 
and again closely listened and heard the same faint, 
soft “tap! tap! tap!” slowly repeated, which could be 
distinctly heard in the stillness. “That cannot be 
imagination. Some one surely knocked. I must give 
admittance.” 

“ Entrez ,” he said, and as he fixed his eye on the 
knob of the door, it slowly turned and the door softly 
opened, and the same heavily veiled woman whom he 
had seen outside, stepped softly into the room and 
looked at him for some moments in silence. “Who is 
this stranger? Why does she not speak?” he won- 
dered, as he rose from his chair and stood before her. 
He scrutinized her closely. Her ungloved hand that 
was exposed to view sparkled brightly with many 
jewels. ‘ ‘ I must break the silence. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Good -evening, madam. ’ ’ 

She made him no response, but stood quite still, gaz- 
ing at him. 

“I may be entertaining a lunatic at this late hour, 
who must have stolen in when Charles was locking the 
door.” He again addressed her. “Whom have I the 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


179 


pleasure of receiving?’’ “ She yet refuses to answer. 
She seems to be dumb ; perhaps she does not understand 
English. Asseyez-vous, je vous prie, madame. 
D’ou venez-vous 

She threw her veil aside, and they stood looking at 
each other in profound silence for a moment. 

“Pauline!” he gasped. “You here! How dare you 
intrude on my silent hours so full of recent grief that 
you have brought upon me and mine?” 

“Joseph,” she moaned, “Forgive me. Oh! for- 
give. I have sinned against you, God knows, but I 
loved you greatly.” 

“Loved me!” he scornfully repeated, “and you made 
the innocent to suffer for that love.” 

“Have some charity for the love I had for you,” the 
late visitor pleaded. 

“Do not torture me with your love. I care not to 
listen. It is time wasted. Only idle mockery. Your 
love was without principle; without heart, without 
soul, devoid of anything but instinct.” 

The words coursed hurriedly and vehemently from 
Mr. Boynton’s lips, and his face burned with indigna- 
tion. 

“Have some mercy for me. Think of the love you 
once bore me,” she cried. The point of a small em- 
broidered bronze slipper was thrust artfully from be- 
neath a dark, purple velvet robe. The garment fell 
loosely from over her shoulders, displaying her white, 
shapely neck, that glistened and sparkled with diamonds 
in the darkness of the room. He stood before her with 


180 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


his hands clasped behind him unmoved. His face had 
grown calm and rigid in the few moments that had 
passed. His words rang out cold, clear and calm in 
the silence as he replied : 

“Your lesson is well learned, madam, but it is useless ; 
it is all lost, all lost. Your acting is well done, but 
I am older and wiser than when I first met you. I 
did fancy you many years ago, but it was simply 
boyish infatuation. I have loved only one woman, 
my wife.” 

“Irena was ” 

“Stop, woman,” interrupting her. “Do not pollute 
her pure name with your false lips. I will not listen 
to one word, not one word,” he said, firmly. “Not 
one word of censure ever passed her lips of you, who 
have been her life torture. No duty was ever left un- 
done, no word of love unspoken, no deed of kindness 
ever unbestowed. Such was her life. What can you 
say of yours?” 

“I cannot listen to you. Have a little pity,” she 
almost screamed. 

“Be cautious, madam. If my son should hear you, I 
will not be responsible for the result, as he might 
thrust you from the house,” he said sarcastically. 

“Great goodness! I never want to run across that 
young stripling again. He is a perfect terror. I ap- 
peal to you, not to your son.” 

“What can you expect of me?” he inquired. “I 
have no money for you.” 

'“How can I live? You will not leave me in want.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


181 


“Sell your jewels, you have many. Sell your furni- 
ture, that is valuable. Sell your bric-a-brac, your 
horses, those I cannot take as I have given them. They 
will bring you money. I have none for you.” 

“Mercy, pity!” she cried. 

‘ ‘ Mercy, pity !” he repeated contemptuously. “Yes, 
as much mercy as you have given me and mine I give 
you, no more.” 

“I confess I have done wrong, but I loved you pas- 
sionately, and it would be a pleasure to serve you. 
What is your wish? What do you ask?” 

“I have only one request to make of you. Let me 
alone. I ask no more. I ask no less. The past cannot 
be reclaimed.” 

“Do you leave me to suffer?” the late visitor in- 
quired. 

“I shall watch your fate with interest, and you shall 
suffer as you have made others suffer. ” His voice was 
cold and calm. 

She arose and looked at him disdainfully. “I shall 
not suffer. I shall live in elegance and luxury. You 
shall see.” 

“Unscrupulous woman, you will suffer, the worst 
kind of suffering. Remorse will ever be with you, in 
your sleeping hours as well as your wakeful ones. It 
will rule over you like a tyrant. It will curse as it 
only can curse; it will rob the sunlight of its bright- 
ness, make daylight darkness, and night hideous to 
you.” 

“You are revengeful. You will be disappointed if I 


182 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


am yet happy. I do not propose to be made miserable 
if I can procure money. That will bring happiness in 
a measure, as it will bring comfort.” 

“Repent. Mend your ways. Remember you are no 
longer young. Time has dealt kindly with you, but all 
the blond wigs or false devices will not cover age much 
longer.” 

She flashed with rage and scorn, started toward him 
with outstretched hand to stop his words. “How dare 
you talk to a lady in such a manner. It is brutal. I 
will not listen to such language.” 

“It is very disagreeable to hear the truth sometimes, 
I acknowledge, madam, but I have been forced to tell 
it. The more I talk the more exasperated I am. Let 
us part.” 

“Not forever, I hope. Have some compassion,” she 
again pleaded. 

“How much have you shown toward me? I have 
suffered, how much I alone know.” 

“Do you not think I have had my share of suffering, 
being separated from one I have loved for so many 
years?” said his visitor. 

“The little love you are capable of will not destroy 
much of your peace of mind. The want of money will 
bring you more unhappiness, but that is no excuse for 
all the deception you have practiced for so many years. 
You are simply mercenary,” he responded coldly. 

“Believe at least that I loved you sincerely and let 
that plead for my forgiveness and pardon,” she per- 
sisted. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


183 


He walked the floor to and fro with bent head and 
knitted brow, but made her no reply. 

“I hope you will relent and grant me another inter- 
view and some assistance,” she pleaded. 

“I shall never help you in any way again,” he an- 
swered firmly. “Now go thy way, thou miserable 
woman, and never molest me again.” 

And so she went out into the great, cold world alone, 
unloved, and uncared for. 


184 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The sorrow and depression in the old homestead that 
followed after the death of Mrs. Boynton was unendur- 
able. Every hook, every leaf, that had been so care- 
fully marked spoke of her. Months had passed away 
since her death. Mr. Boynton had remained at home 
with his children. He was ever thoughtful and careful 
in his attentions, and they had both learned to love him 
and looked to him for advice and protection. 

Beatrix, ever serious, ever thoughtful, seemed more 
so as days passed by. She was like a drooping flower. 
While her mother had lived, the care of her had % 
diverted her mind from herself. Her thoughts now 
turned to Carl Clayton, he was ever before her. She had 
loved him with all the tenderness of youth, as only 
such a nature as hers can love. “Was he married? 
Did he ever think of or care for her now, or had some 
one else supplanted her in his affections? If not, where 
and how could she see him?” These questions often re- 
peated themselves in her thoughts. 

“If I could only go to New York, I am sure I could 
find him somewhere or somehow, he is so well known, 
and then I could explain all. He thinks I did not have 
any affection for him, but even then he wondered why 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


185 


I did not accept him for his position. I never can or 
shall love any one else as long as I live, but it may be 
with him as it is with a great many other people, ‘Out 
of sight out of mind.* But if he is married? Oh! how 
unhappy I am at the thought!” 

As she was in this frame of mind one morning await- 
ing her father and brother for breakfast, a deep sigh 
unconsciously escaped her lips, and her beautiful eyes 
were dim with tears. 

“What is it, my dear daughter? I am sorry to see 
you always looking so sad,” her father said, as he en- 
tered the room and overheard the sigh. 

She made him no response, but arose, went toward 
him, greeted him affectionately, and inquired after his 
health, and how he had slept. 

“Very well, my dear, but I fear you are not well. I 
think it is altogether too gloomy here for my children. 
The sad past is ever before you. We can shut the 
house up or leave it and Hector in the care of Charles, 
and travel to new places, new scenes. We will seek 
amusement ; anything that will lift the cloud that has 
overshadowed your past life. You have been well 
taught, well trained. You are far too young and beau- 
tiful to live a life of seclusion. We must not mourn for 
the dead. We must strive for the happiness of the liv- 
ing. What is your wish? What your desire? Would 
you not like to travel?” he inquired tenderly. 

Beatrix’s face brightened and she smiled as though 
the thought pleased her. “I should like very much to 
visit New York. I have seen very little of that city. 


186 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Do you not think you would like to go there, papa?” 
she eagerly inquired. 

4 ‘Yes, my daughter, if you think you would enjoy it. 
It will be a little late to visit the city now. We can 
go abroad this coming summer and spend next winter 
in New York. My business is in good hands, and does 
not need my immediate attention. Although I am not 
a wealthy man of leisure, my income is sufficient to 
travel and make you very comfortable. I expect Joe 
to take my place at the head of the firm, as he seems 
very well pleased with the idea, and as my general ex- 
penses have been considerably diminished, you need not 
deny yourself any comfort, my dear.” 

“You are ever kind and indulgent, my dear papa; I 
should not like to go where you could not enjoy your- 
self and be happy. But it would please me very much 
to spend the winter in New York, if it would please 
you as well,” she answered, looking anxiously at him 
for an answer. 

“Then we will go, my darling, as I am always happy 
wherever my children are,” was his reply, as he raised 
his large, melancholy eyes and looked tenderly at 
her. 

Immediately after breakfast Beatrix began making 
preparation for their departure, with a lighter heart 
than she had had since the death of her mother. Her 
depression in a measure wore off. All was bustle, con- 
fusion for a time in the house. The thought of possibly 
once more seeing Carl Clayton gave her special pleas- 
ure in the arrangement for their journey. A week had 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


187 


passed and everything was nearly in readiness for their 
departure. In a week they would sail. 

“Six days before we sail. How very slowly the days 
pass. And three months before we shall be in New 
York. How long it seems. Although the Claytons’ 
wealth and position are superior to my family’s, I know 
that will not be any objection now the cloud is lifted 
and no stain remains on my name. How delighted I 
am at that one thought of once again seeing Carl. But 
what if he is married? ‘ If’ — that word nearly suffocates 
me,” and so she mused. 

The day at last arrived, bright and pleasant, in the 
latter part of June, when they sailed from Boston har- 
bor. They journeyed to Scotland, England and France, 
and returned to New York the latter part of September. 
They went to a fashionable hotel on Fifth Avenue. 
Beatrix went sightseeing. She drove in the park with 
either her brother or father almost daily, hoping to see 
Carl. Weeks passed and she had not seen him any- 
where. She only met with disappointment wherever 
she went. She would often read his name in the paper 
at a public dinner, or as a prominent figure at a politi- 
cal meeting, or at a fashionable entertainment at a 
private house, but she was never where he had been, 
she never seemed to be in the right place to meet him. 

She took walks on the principal streets, hoping to 
meet him suddenly face to face, and that he would stop 
and inquire about her health and her whereabouts. 
She could then explain all. “If I could only once see 
him, I would rush up and speak without any hesita- 


188 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


tion. I am sure I should,” she said to herself many 
times. 

Months had passed away, she had thrown aside 
mourning and now looked more lovely and beautiful 
than ever in her light drab walking suit trimmed with 
black fur, or in a cream or white evening dresses. They 
went to all places of amusement, to the opera, the 
theater, which were all new to her, as she had led such 
a studious life, but never once had she seen the object 
she was in search of. A gentleman of leisure and 
wealth, who boarded at the same hotel and had often 
seen Beatrix and fallen very much in love with her, 
formed the acquaintance of Joe, and invited him with 
his sister and father to accompany him to his box at the 
Italian opera the following evening, which was 
Wednesday. 

“We will accept with pleasure,” Joe had responded, 
without consulting his father or sister. 

“Mr. Murray, a gentleman who is living at this 
hotel, has invited all of us in his box, Trix, for to- 
night, and I have accepted,” said Joe, the next morning 
at the breakfast table. 

“How very kind he is. I shall be delighted to go. 
It will be so much better than to be crowded into small 
seats,” she replied. 

“Who is the gentleman you have just mentioned?” 
inquired Mr. Boynton, looking up from the papers he 
was reading. 

“Jack Murray, as he is commonly called. He is a 
well-known club man here in the city, and a very 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 189 

bright, clever fellow, I think. I have taken a great 
fancy to him.” 

“Will you please go, papa?’ ’ Beatrix sweetly pleaded. 
“I think so, my dear, if you wish it,” he replied. 
When evening came Beatrix equipped herself with 
extreme simplicity as usual. She was dressed all in 
white; cream white silk and tulle, pearl ornaments and 
a long white opera cloak trimmed with white fur, and 
a bouquet of lilies of the valley, her favorite flower. 
This completed her simple toilet. 


190 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

At 8 o’clock precisely Mr. Murray was anxiously 
waiting in the parlor for his guests. He had not long 
to wait, as a few moments later they all entered the 
room. A formal introduction was gone through with. 
Beatrix thanked him for his kindness, and they were 
all whirled away in Mr. Murray’s carriage. The opera 
of Faust had commenced when they arrived. Beatrix 
placed her bouquet on the cushion in front of the box, 
leaned forward, with her hands clasped together beside 
the flowers, perfectly enchanted with the music, and 
perfectly unaware of the many lorgnettes leveled at her 
unconscious loveliness. 

“Oh! how delightful! How very charming! How 
well they all rendered their parts, did they not, Mr. 
Murray?” she exclaimed, as the curtain fell on the last 
act, uplifting her soft, dreamy eyes to the tall, dark, 
handsome Mr. Murray, who stood directly behind, gaz- 
ing at her in mute admiration. 

“Yes, it was very well done, I think,” he said, lan- 
guidly, “but I am a little wearied of the opera, although 
it is very popular.” 

“You have seen it many times, I imagine. Yet I 
scarcely understand how any one could tire of such a de- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


191 


lightful opera with such talented artists for singers. I 
was perfectly charmed, but it is quite new to me. You 
do not know, of course, but this is really my first season 
out. In fact, I have never been much in society, as in 
my younger days I had the care of an invalid mother, 
who required all my attention at home, and I enjoyed 
myself by her side more than anywhere else. ’ ’ Her eyes 
grew misty with tears as she said these last words. 

“I am very glad if you enjoyed the opera, Miss 
Boynton. My box is at your disposal whenever you 
feel inclined to occupy it. It will always give me 
pleasure to see you here.” 

“I have enjoyed it very much, Mr. Murray, more 
than I can tell you. I am exceedingly fond of music, 
and I fear I shall take advantage of your kind, gen- 
erous offer.” 

“I beg you will not put it in that way, for I feel very 
grateful to you, as I have had the pleasure of being in 
company with one of the loveliest and most charming 
of women this evening,” he answered, thrusting one 
hand in his pocket and looking lovingly down into her 
soft eyes. 

Beatrix bowed her head and made no reply to his re- 
mark, but took his offered arm and they all walked out 
to take the carriage for home. As they walked toward 
the stairs, she accidentally met Carl Clayton face to 
face with a lady on his arm. Their eyes met. Carl 
looked steadily, unflinchingly at her in astonishment. 
Her eyes dropped in confusion under his steady gaze, 
her courage forsook her. She could not speak, she was 


192 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


too much surprised, embarrassed. She did not know 
what to say, or how to address him. She hastily lifted 
her fan, gently tapped Joe on the shoulder with it, and 
hurriedly whispered: “It is he, he. Speak, Joe, 
speak.” 

They were pushed along in the surging crowd and 
separated among the confused multitude before Joe had 
an opportunity to understand or make any reply. 

“There he is now, Joe. Speak, quick. Don’t you 
see him? It is he,” Beatrix cried excitedly, pointing 
one finger out of the carriage door that they had just 
entered. Joe looked at Mr. Murray wondering] y. 
“Murray, I believe the opera has turned my sister’s 
head. The first case of lunacy that has ever been 
known in our family.” Turning to her he said, “Ex- 
plain yourself, Trix. Whom do you mean by ‘he?’ I 
saw several hundred of them.” 

“Why, Joe,” looking at him surprised, as to her 
there was only one “he ” in the world. “How very 
stupid. It was Carl Clayton,” she exclaimed, and sank 
back in one corner of the carriage, drawing a long sigh 
and almost burying her face in the soft, white fur of 
her cloak. 

“You really look quite pale. I hope you have not 
fatigued yourself. Allow me,” said Mr. Murray, tak- 
ing her fan and gently fanning her. 

“I am a little tired,” she wearily answered. 

“I thought you were speaking of an emperor or a 
prince, or some other great personage,” said Joe. “I 
did not recognize Mr. Clayton. If so, I should surely 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


193 


have spoken to him, as you know he is a man I have 
always greatly admired, and I should like very much 
to again see him. Why did you not speak to him 
yourself?’’ he inquired. 

“He had a lady with him,” she faintly answered. 

“O — h! You were afraid of the lady, were you? I 
am not at all surprised at that. I confess I am a little 
afraid of them myself,” Joe said, with a light laugh. 

Beatrix sat silent in thought the rest of the way 
home. Mr. Murray was leaning forward, still fanning 
her, and noticed her abstracted manner, and wondered 
where her thoughts were tending. 

When once alone in her room, before disrobing, she 
threw herself in a large easy-chair and gave way to 
thinking. She sat there many hours with her hands 
clasped and her head dropped. “I have looked in vain 
for him for many months, and then to-night let such a 
good opportunity pass. I only blame myself. Why 
did I not speak? Oh ! dear. How much better not to 
have seen him at all, yet I know now where to find him 
and I propose to go every night until I can again see 
him, for I am quite certain I can control my emotion 
better, should I meet him the second time. But who is 
this lady he is with? If she had not been with him, I 
think I should have had more courage to speak.” She 
arose at last, unclasped her hands, and threw her long 
fur mantle aside, resolved to see him again and speak, 
whatever the circumstances were. The next morning 
Beatrix’s first thought was of the opera. “How should 
she get there? Can we not go to the opera again this 


194 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


evening, papa?” she inquired of him as soon as she en- 
tered the breakfast room, where he was awaiting her. 

“ Yes, my daughter, I will go as soon as I finish my 
breakfast and secure as good seats as possible,” he re- 
plied. Mr. Boynton hastily ate his breakfast, went out, 
but returned shortly. ‘ ‘ There is not a seat or a box in 
the whole house,” he said. “It is one of Patti’s nights, 
and everything was secured many days ago. Even 
weeks previous the best seats were taken.” 

Beatrix looked greatly disappointed. Her lips quiv- 
ered as she replied, “I never have heard Patti, and I 
have always been very anxious to see as well as to hear 
her.” 

“I know you have never heard her, my dear, and you 
shall certainly hear her before she leaves. I will go 
early to-morrow morning and secure tickets for one of 
the nights she sings, but to-night is the first night after 
an absence from this country of over a year, and there 
will be a great crush.” 

“What is it, Beatrix?” Joe inquired, as he entered 
the parlor where they were sitting. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“You have such a woebegone sort of die-away look. 
You look something like a sick lamb.” 

“I am sorry if I look so distressed, but I regret very 
much that I cannot hear Patti to-night.” 

“Is that your only trouble? I will try and see Mur- 
ray. I know he will be delighted to have your dear 
company. He did not have eyes or ears for anything 
else but you last night. I think he is indeed gone. I 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


195 


expect there will be a wedding in the family 
soon,” 

“If there is to be a wedding in the family it must be 
you, as I do not think there is any one that seems to be 
very anxious to marry me at present. Mr. Murray has 
simply a friendly feeling toward me, not anything 
more,” she gravely answered. 

Joe laughed. “A life of single blessedness for your 
brother, Trix,” said he. Putting both hands in his 
pocket and commencing a low whistle he left the room. 

Beatrix, on returning to her room, a short time later, 
found a note awaiting her there from Mr. Murray invit- 
ing her to the opera in the evening. She clapped her 
hands w’ith delight. “I am sure to see Carl there to- 
night,” thought she. Immediately she answered, 
thanking him for his kindness, and asking permission 
to take her father and brother. 

“By Jove! Murray, deuced pretty girl you had in 
your box last night,” Jim Knickerbocker, a friend, 
said as he slapped him on the shoulder in the office of 
the hotel while he was reading the note from Beatrix. 

‘ ‘ Y -e-s, yes. Glad to see you, J im, ’ ’ looking up from 
his note. “There always seems to be somebody in the 
way when there is a pretty girl in the question,” he 
answered impatiently. 

“Duel, eh, Jack?” 

“No, I have not gone quite so far as that yet, I hope, 
although I do not know but what I ought to rebel a 
little,” he replied indolently. I was in hopes to have 
her to myself this evening, and she has asked permis- 


196 


THAT OTHER WOMAN,. 


eion to bring all the masculine gender belonging to the 
family along with her, and what can I do? I cannot 
be discourteous enough to refuse.” 

“Sad, sad. You have my sincere sympathy,” his 
friend said, laughing. “A man of your wealth and good 
looks stands a very good chance to win any girl, I 
should say. The greater haste the less speed, it is said. ” 

“No one can get a chance to look at her alone for a 
moment. Father, brother always around. What an 
unlucky dog I am.” 

“I should say you were decidedly lucky, my friend. 
Think of a poor devil like me who has to go out every 
day and scratch for a living. Well, good-by, my dear 
boy. I wish you good luck. I must be off to business. 
I will drop into your box this evening to see that pretty 
girl and hope to find you in more buoyant spirits.” 

Mr. Murray’s friend having left, his mind wandered 
to the pure, gentle image of Beatrix. “I seem to be 
unfortunate in not getting an opportunity to see her 
alone, but I will watch my first chance and not let her 
slip through my fingers, for she is as lovely of character 
as she is beautiful. I must not let any one else step in 
before me. All the boys are on the qui vive to know 
her, but I will guard her from all.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


197 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Evening came. Beatrix appeared in the same white 
dress she had worn the previous evening, having as 
yet not worn bright colors since she had discarded 
mourning. A cluster of lilies of the valley was fas- 
tened on the bodice. They all entered the box just as 
the curtain rose on the first act. Patti soon appeared. 
Beatrix sat listening breathless with delight, forgetting 
everything. All sorrow, grief, trouble had gone while 
she sang. Carl Clayton, who had been her first, her 
only thought, her chief desire in visiting the opera, had 
for the moment completely vanished from her mind in 
her enthusiasm and ecstasy over the sweet singer and 
the music. 

“Oh!” she sighed with delight, “I never could have 
imagined it possible for any one to articulate such sweet 
sounds. How much everybody must love her. Do you 
not love her, Mr. Murray?” she innocently inquired, 
looking up into his face. 

“Yes, I love her music very much,” replied he with 
a careless little laugh. 

“Oh! I am so glad they have succeeded in bringing 
her back,” sho exclaimed as she clasped her hands with 
joy together. “I w r onder what she will sing.” 

The sweet singer raised her hands before her with a 


198 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


pretty gesture to still the thundering applause, and sang 
sweetly and pathetically “Home, Sweet Home.” Dur- 
ing the singing not a breath was heard the while. The 
stillness was unbroken in that large audience. As the 
last note died away, Beatrix with quivering lips and 
tears dropping one by one looked up and saw Carl Clay- 
ton in the box standing directly back of her. How long 
he had been there she knew not, but there he was, near 
her, the same handsome, intellectual, courtly man she 
had met over two years previous at Seaview. He had 
changed but little, though he may have looked a trifle 
older. She started perceptibly, suddenly rose from her 
seat and a deep blush overspread her fair skin, her eyes 
met his cold, steady gaze for a moment only, then drop- 
ping her glance to the floor, she bent her head, but not 
a word did she utter. 

He did not avert his gaze from her face an instant, 
but looked earnestly, steadily at her in silence. Not a 
muscle of his face changed. What his feelings were 
no one could discover. Joe broke the silence. “Trix, 
you expressed a desire to see Mr. Clayton. I went to 
his box and invited him in here, and you have not even 
extended a welcome to him.” Tears still glistened in 
her soft, dreamy eyes as she again timidly raised them 
to his with an appealing look, and put out her hand to 
welcome him. Her sweet lips parted slightly, but not 
a sound came. Carl stiffly and silently extended his 
right hand to her, stroking his mustache reflectively 
with the other. He looked her full in the eyes, but not 
a smile passed over his countenance. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


199 


“Clayton, my sister has not returned to earth yet. 
She has been so enraptured with Patti that she soared 
above all earthly things during the music.” 

Carl did not make any response to Joe’s remark, but 
Was regarding Beatrix with severe coldness. 

“Beatrix, you said you wished to see Mr. Clayton,” 
again said Joe. 

“I did wish to see you,” with drooping eyes, she fal- 
tered. 

“Yes,” Carl simply replied. 

“Have you been well?” she inquired in a low voice. 

“Quite well.” 

Beatrix Boynton was nonplussed. She did not know 
what to say to this self-possessed and elegant man of 
the world. There was a sternness in his manner that 
almost frightened her. If he had been less cold and 
distant, she could have expressed herself more freely. 
As it was, all her hopes vanished. She had always 
thought him to be very genial, companionable. She 
could not understand why he had so changed. 

“Your brother invited me here and said you desired 
to see me,” Carl at last said with cold courtesy. 

“You were very kind to come,” she said, with forced 
composure. “My father I think you have never met,” 
introducing him. “Mr. Murray, I believe is an old 
acquaintance.” 

Carl turned and shook hands cordially with Mr. 
Boynton, who had not been unmoved at the singing, 
for there were traces of tears in his eyes. 

“I saw you here last evening,” she again tremulously 


200 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


addressed him. “I was sorry I did not have an oppor- 
tunity to speak to you then.” 

“Yes, I remember,” he coldly responded. 

Carl looked calm, cold, inscrutable. 

“I beg pardon, my dear Miss Boynton, but every one 
is leaving the house. I do not think you can be aware 
of the time. They will soon shut the doors, and close 
us in here, not a very desirable place to spend the 
night,” said Mr. Murray petulantly, as he had been 
watching with jealous pang every word that Beatrix 
had uttered to Carl. He removed the long white cloak 
from the peg and carefully arranged it over her 
shoulders, at the same time offering his arm. She re- 
luctantly walked out of the box with him, still gazing 
anxiously, wistfully at Carl. His face did not alter in 
its expression a shade; it was as cold and stern as when 
she had first spoken to him in the evening. 

“I am very glad to have had the pleasure of again 
seeing you,” she said to him, smiling faintly as she 
spoke. 

“Thanks,” answered he coldly. 

“I should very much like to hear about Maud, since 
I suppose you hear from her often,” Beatrix remarked, 
making every effort to continue the conversation. 

“Yes, we often see her. She has been very unfortu- 
nate, but it is quite a long story. She has spoken of you 
many times. I think she really took quite a fancy to 
you.” 

“Which surprises you, no doubt,” she answered, with 
a smile. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


201 


“Pardon me, Mr. Clayton, but your mother is calling 
you,” Mr. Murray said, with a bitter glance at him. 
“She has been waiting for you a long time, and I am 
not surprised that she is growing impatient.” 

“Carl, Carl, do you propose to keep us waiting here 
all night? Nearly every one has left the house. It is 
very late and I am very much fatigued. You surely 
cannot expect us to go home without you,” said Mrs. 
Clayton, not condescending to notice Beatrix. 

“Clayton, why will you not come and see us? We 
are on Fifth Avenue, not far from where you live,” 
said Joe, naming the address, and “Beatrix has often 
spoken of Maud, and I know it will interest her very 
much to again hear of her.” 

Carl glanced at Beatrix with the same cold, stern look 
he had worn during the evening. He hesitated a 
moment before replying “I think I can run in to- 
morrow between two and three in the afternoon. 
Would that time be agreeable?” he said doubtfully, 
still gazing fixedly at her. 

“Perfectly,” answered she, and her face brightened 
up with a pleased expression. 

“Carl, Carl, come,” Mrs. Clayton continued calling 
nervously, as she stood waiting at the top of the stairs 
with the same young lady Beatrix had seen with Carl 
the night previous. 

“Good -night, Miss Boynton,” said Carl stiffly, and 
turned to the others, and hurriedly shook hands with 
them. “I hope I shall see you to-morrow,” exclaimed 
she, looking anxiously at him. 


202 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


4 ‘ Probably. ” In a moment more he was gone. 

“You know all about Mrs. Clayton I think I have 
heard you say/’ Beatrix inquired of Mr. Murray after 
they had entered the carriage to go home. 

“Yes, I know about him. Everybody knows some- 
thing about him, I suppose, by reputation. He has 
newspaper notoriety enough. If that is his ambition, 
he must be well satisfied. I presume he enjoys reading 
about himself. As for myself, my aspirations do not 
run that way,” declared he sullenly. 

“Oh! I was not thinking of that, but I always see a 
lady with him, the same one that was in company with 
him to-night. Did you notice her?” she said looking 
earnestly at him, hoping for an explanation. 

“I think he takes her with him wherever he goes; at 
least I always see them together. It is a well-founded 
fact that they are engaged, although it has not yet been 
announced, but everybody knows they are very much 
in love with each other, and they are soon to be mar- 
ried, I believe.” 

“If he is in love with her, he cannot be in love with 
any one else,” she replied dubiously. 

“Certainly not. A man cannot be in love with two 
women at once; of course not. Impossible,” he an- 
swered, looking at her as though well satisfied with the 
news he had imparted. 

“Do you think her pretty?” inquired she faintly. 

“She is considered very handsome, and is a very 
bright, accomplished girl, it is said, and Mrs. Clayton 
seems quite delighted with her son’s choice, and is per- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


203 


fectly devoted to her, but I cannot understand what 
there is about Clayton to please the ladies’ fancy so 
much, unless it is his wealth. Other men have wealth 
and good looks to go with it/’ quietly stroking his 
mustache with a self-conscious air. He paused a 
moment, looked earnestly at her and inquired: “How 
did she strike your fancy? Did you think her pretty?” 

Beatrix sighed heavily, and replied faintly, “Yes, 
very.” 

“You seem to be very much interested, Trix,” broke 
in Joe. “I am inclined to doubt his engagement, as I 
do not think Clayton a marrying man.” 

Their conversation was now drawn to a close by their 
arrival at the hotel. On alighting from the .carriage, 
she thanked Mr. Murray for his kindness, holding out 
her hand to bid him good-night. He pressed it gently 
for a moment, made a ceremonious, indolent bow , and 
they all disappeared to their rooms for the night. 


204 


THAT OTHER WOMAN, 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Mr. Murray paced to and fro the greater part of the 
night, thinking of the beautiful girl, Beatrix. Her 
sweet manner and soft violet eyes were ever before him. 
He had fallen passionately, jealously in love with her. 
“If my time is well chosen, I shall be able to see and 
have a talk with her before Clayton comes to-morrow. 
If I can once obtain her promise, she is not a girl to 
break it for Clayton or any one else in the universe. 
Does she prefer him to me? Why should she?” He oft 
repeated these words to himself as many a hapless man 
has done before. “But why do thoughts surge up in 
my mind like this regarding him? I do not see how he 
can possibly interfere with me, for I do not think there 
is any doubt that he is engaged to Miss Child. How 
foolish I am to vex myself with these questions. He 
treated Beatrix Boynton with the greatest indifference, 
even coldness, at the opera, which much surprised me, 
as he is usually so affable and courteous. Sweet girl, 
it made her unhappy. I could see it did, she has such 
a delicate, sensitive nature. It was unkind, but he is 
probably so much in love with Miss Child and she with 
him, that he did not want to give her any cause for un- 
happiness. He is quite right.” This last happy 
thought enabled him to have a few hours slumber. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


205 


“ Joe, I should like to have you try my fast horses. I 
have a pair of splendid bays, and I think they will 
please you. Why will you not take a spin around the 
park to-day, and see how you like them? ,, said Mr. 
Murray to him the next morning. 

‘ 4 Thanks, Murray,” said Joe; “it is very kind of you 
to make me that offer. I have an engagement to go 
with my father down to the lower part of the city this 
morning to attend to some business. I do not know how 
long we shall be detained, but if I can possibly get back 
here in time, it would be a pleasure to take a drive. I 
am a great lover of horses, and very fond of driving 
fast ones.” 

“Why will you not promise me, Joe?” he said again, 
pressing the offer. “I am very anxious to have your 
opinion of them, and I know you are a very good judge 
of fine horses. ’ ’ 

“Very well, Murray, I will promise. I will accept 
your kindness. What will be the most convenient time 
for me to go?” 

“How will 1 o’clock suit you? Can you not be ready 
with your father by that time? That is a pleasant 
time this season for driving. I believe your sister is 
expecting company this afternoon, and I will play the 
agreeable until she is better entertained.” 

Joe laughed lightly. “What scheme now?” thought 
he. With his past experience and quick perception he 
was not easily deceived. 

“That the human race is not to be depended upon I 
became painfully aware some years since, but horses are 


206 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


rather more reliable. I will try and be here by 1 or 
a little after, and I know your company will be very 
agreeable to my sister.* * Seeing that Mr. Murray 
looked a little disconcerted, he put his hand on his 
shoulder, saying: ‘ * That is all right, my dear fellow. 
You have my best wishes. My sister is sweet and 
lovely, go in and win ; if not, the world is wide and the 
woods are full of them.’* 

“I do not quite understand,*’ said Jack Murray, as 
he languidly moved on. 

That afternoon Beatrix had arrayed herself in a light 
drab cloth, dress with silver and drab trimmings, a 
most becoming costume. She was ready and impa- 
tiently waiting in their small private parlor long before 
the clock chimed the hour of 1. She took one of the 
latest novels that was lying on the table, and seated 
herself by the window to read, but her mind was too 
full of happy, eager expectation at the thought of again 
seeing Carl Clayton to get interested in it. That one 
thought only of him revolved to and fro in her mind. 
A few moments later Joe entered the room with Mr. 
Murray. She arose, changed the book from the right 
to the left hand to shake hands with him, and said in a 
pleasant tone: “I am so glad to see you. I have 
thought so many times of your kindness. Won’t you 
please be seated,” at the same time motioning him to a 
chair. 

“Trix, I am going to take Murray’s fast trotters out 
on the road to try them,” Joe said to her. “I hope to 
get back alive. If I don’t get smashed all to pieces I 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


207 


hope to be back here in time to see Clayton. So try 
and make yourself just as agreeable as possible so as to 
hold him until I return. ’ * Having said that he went 
out, leaving Mr. Murary alone with Beatrix. 

He had well selected his time, knowing that she 
would be in waiting for Carl Clayton, and had offered 
his horses to Mr. Boynton and her brother for a little 
turn in the park, as he carelessly put it, not thinking of 
the advantage he was throwing into the path of Beatrix 
to be alone with Carl. They discussed several subjects, 
but she was somewhat distrait, and every few moments 
fell to thinking. As he looked at her she had never 
seemed so beautiful, so lovely, as she sat there before 
him with downcast eyes resting on the open novel lying 
idly in the folds of her gown. How faultless her 
figure. How bewitching and so unconscious of her 
loveliness. “I must improve my time before any inter- 
ruptions,’ ’ thought he. 

‘ 4 Beatrix, I often think of you. Do you ever give 
me a single thought?” said her companion in a deep, 
low voice. 

“I do indeed, Mr. Murray. I often think of you,” 
she replied with frankness. 

His face lit up with pleasure at hearing these words. 
“Do you very often?” inquired he. 

“Yes, very often. Your kindness I do not think I 
can ever forget ; I should be very ungrateful if I did. 
I did enjoy the opera so much. How grand it was! I 
could not have gone except for your generosity. It was 
so very thoughtful.” 


208 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“You are very fond of music?’ ’ 

“Passionately fond of it,” she answered, in a low 
tone, as she carelessly turned the leaves of the novel in 
her lap. 

He was a little perplexed. He knew not what to 
say. He knew he had not conveyed the meaning by 
his words to her that he had intended. She apparently 
had not understood him. 

“You are very beautiful, Beatrix. You are fault- 
lessly fair,” said he. 

“Yes, I think my skin must be very fair, since every 
one tells me so. That must be owing to my physical 
strength and health, I think. I enjoy the most perfect 
health. Do you not think that every lady could be as 
fair if she would only study health? My dear mother 
taught me to study first my comfort, which is the secret 
of good health. I am indebted to her thoughtful train- 
ing for my fair skin. Health is to be preferred to small 
waists and tight shoes, so she alway s told me, ’ ’ she an- 
swered innocently, and with some emotion. 

He moved beside her and took her hand in his. 
“You do not understand me, Beatrix. I love you, love 
you passionately.” 

Slowly, gently drawing her hand away, she looked 
at him with a troubled expression in her eyes, but in 
hushed astonishment; then her eyelids fell and her head 
drooped, but she made him no answer. He had been 
very courteous, considerate, but she thought the atten- 
tion shown her was simply because she was a stranger 
in the city, and his kindness she fully appreciated. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


209 


He saw her head droop, the color on her cheeks 
brighten and burn to a deep red. The drooped eyelids 
with their long dark lashes shading her soft dark eyes 
all spoke love to him, all gave him hope, even more 
than hope — full assurance in the return of his love. 

“I cannot tell you in words how intensely, wildly, I 
love you.” The voice was low and earnest. 

Beatrix was surprised, pained and saddened at these 
words. It was unexpected. She made a movement 
with her hands to stop him. 

“Ho, no, let me go on, let me tell you more.” Drop- 
ping his voice to a low tone he continued : “I loved you 
before I knew you, loved you the first time I ever saw 
you. I love you more since I know you. Daily my 
love has strengthened. Tell me you love me in return 
and we can live our lives together and be happy in our 
love.” He poured forth these words hurriedly without 
pause, in the ardor of his passion. 

She slowly raised her head, looked anxiously at the 
clock, then turned her sweet, lovely face to his and her 
lips quivered as she replied : 

“Your words have made me very, very unhappy. I 
hope you will not think unkindly of me. I do hope 
not. I am so very sorry this should have happened, 
for I like and respect you very much, but — ” she 
hesitated. 

“You like me, but do not love or care to marry me,” 
he said, interrupting her. “You have a preference for 
some one else whom you expect to marry.” The hope 
of a moment ago had vanished. 


210 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Her voice dropped to a melancholy, low tone of regret 
as she replied : “I shall never marry.* * 

* 4 Never marry?” he repeated, looking surprised, per- 
plexed at the answer she made to him. 

Again she glanced impatiently at the clock. Five 
minutes to 3. How fast the tiny clock ticked out the 
gray afternoon hours, never so fast to her. A look of 
disappointment passed over her face while she was still 
gazing at the timepiece without replying. 

“You have made rather a startling, I may say, 
shocking, statement for one so young, so beautiful, that 
you will never marry. I really do not understand it; 
you must have a very good reason. Will you allow 
me to ask for an explanation?* * 

She silently, sadly looked at him for a moment, then 
with bent head and eyes downcast, she slowly, softly 
murmured, “I have loved once. I never can love 
again.” 

Mr. Murray’s face clouded a little. He felt piqued, 
mortified and somewhat angered at her reply. He had 
not thought of a refusal. He had wealth, good looks 
and was considered a “catch,” as the word goes. Why 
should she refuse him? So many women of wealth and 
position would consider the offer of his hand a great 
favor. He knew her hand was not bestowed on any one 
else. What did she mean by loving once? Some girls 
fall in love every day. So he mused as he stood gazing 
at her in silence. 

“I do not think you can realize what you are doing 
or saying. I think you will retract your words when 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


211 


you consider at leisure. You surely have encouraged 
my attention,” said he, with some sullenness. 

There was a sad, troubled look on her sweet face as 
she replied : “I am very sorry if I have done wrong or 
given offense. If I have misled you it was due to my 
ignorance of your fondness for me, which I regret. I 
shall return home soon and in few weeks you will get 
me out of your thoughts I hope.” 

“ Never. I shall never cease to think of you,” he re- 
plied, in a tone of despair. 

Her voice trembled a little as she again spoke. “I 
do not think it possible for me ever to love again,” she 
softly and sadly repeated. 

Beatrix Boynton had watched the time in eager 
anxiety until the last stroke of 3 had died away, and 
with it her hopes had been crushed. The last hope she 
had caused to spring up in her heart of ever regaining 
Carl’s love had now died out. She never expected to 
see him again. 

Mr. Murray, seeing how utterly depressed and thor- 
oughly unhappy she looked as she sat there before him 
in all her loveliness and grace, with her hands clasped 
over the book in her lap one in the other, and her head 
bent, with the bright color still lingering in her face, 
and tears in her eyes, he relented, his anger was sub- 
dued. He walked impatiently backward and forward 
in the room, then went to where she sat and bowed his 
head before her and calmly replied : 

“Beatrix, I have wronged you. I have misled 
myself.” 


212 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


She uplifted her eyes that were still wet with tears to 
his, and softly said, “You understand.” 

With head still bowed, he gently answered: “I un- 
derstand. I shall never marry.” 

It was now ten minutes past 3, when they were inter- 
rupted by a loud knock on the door, and an attendant 
brought in a card bearing the name, Carl Clayton. 
Beatrix’s whole countenance lighted up with a smile, 
her heart beat and fluttered, and a little cry of delight 
unconsciously escaped her lips. She covered her mouth 
with her handkerchief to force back the emotion, and 
told the servant in a nervous tone to show him to the 
room. Then with forced calmness she arose and put 
out her hand to Mr. Murray. “I am so pleased if you 
do not think badly of me. We can always be friends, 
can we not? At least I should like very much to be, 
with your permission. I should feel very sorry indeed 
to have you think unkindly of me. Now you under- 
stand me better, you know I have not purposely done 
wrong; don’t you?” 

“Yes. Good-by. God bless you. ” 

“You have been so very kind and good to my father 
and brother, as well as myself. I should hope I would 
not do anything to offend or make you unhappy,” said 
she, in a low voice. 

He held her hand in his with a little passionate grasp, 
then raised it to his lips for a few lingering moments in 
silence. Then their lives were parted forever. 

“Oh! here is Mr. Clayton,” exclaimed she, with a 
happy smile, and her face turning a trifle pale, as he 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


213 


entered the room. And she advanced to meet him and 
offered her hand with a kindly greeting. “I am very 
glad you did not forget me. I had nearly given you up, 
as I expected you at an earlier hour.” 

Carl shook hands with her rather frigidly, and said : 
f ‘ I know it is past the time I promised to be here ; I had 
nearly forgotten it.” Turning tow T ard Mr. Murray, he 
greeted him cordially, saying: “I am glad to see you, 
Murray. How is your health?” 

“I am quite well,” answered he gloomily, and with- 
drew from the room. 

Beatrix and Carl were left alone. 


214 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Carl saw how disturbed she looked and observed 
the varying color coming and going in her fair skin as 
he silently gazed at her. * * She is in lo ve with Murray, * ’ 
he thought. 

Beatrix’s eyelids at first dropped under his cold gaze; 
the next instant she raised them again and addressed 
him in a pleasant manner. “I am delighted to see 
you. I think you will find this comfortable,” offering 
him a chair. 

Carl passed her a chair with his usual courtesy, and 
seated himself directly opposite. 

“You must have been very much surprised to see me 
after so long a time,” said she, in a cheerful tone. 

“It was unexpected.” 

“It is so long since I last saw you. I fear it will 
seem to you as though I was almost a stranger.” 

“It is a long time.” 

“I should have been greatly disappointed if you had 
forgotten your promise to-day.” 

“Should you, indeed?” answered he coldly. 

“Yes, I should have been very much grieved. It 
was growing so late in the day I thought it had escaped 
your memory.” 

“I admit it did nearly escape my mind.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


215 


“ I do think it seems a little selfish for me to expect 
you to spend much time indoors on such a pleasant day 
as I believe you usually take a drive in the park when- 
ever the day is fine.” 

Carl scrutinized her beautiful face for a moment 
keenly. “It being a pleasant morning I took an early 
drive in the park with my mother and a lady friend who 
is visiting at our heuse.” 

A look of pain flitted over her face. “I — I — remem- 
ber,” she faltered. “I have seen you with a young 
lady several times. The one you refer to I suppose is 
the same one I saw with you last evening.” 

“The same.” 

“She must be very charming.” 

“She is very charming.” 

“She is also very accomplished, I understand,” she 
said, with a slight tremor in her voice she could not 
quite control. 

“Very accomplished.” 

“Do you think her very pretty?” 

“Very pretty.’' 

All the bright color had now faded from her face and 
left her very pale. Carl had been watching her closely, 
and had noticed every change in her expression. She 
timidly uplifted her eyes and looked him full in the 
face. His countenance was cold, unfathomable. She 
was now convinced that he was completely estranged 
from her. A tear glistened on her eyelash and her lips 
trembled as she said, “Please tell me all about Maud.” 

“Maud, as you perhaps know, eloped with M. La 


216 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Bau. It was very unfortunate, but my mother uncon- 
sciously encouraged it. Maud had had clandestine 
meetings with him and received notes from him at Sea- 
view some weeks before either my mother or I had seen 
him, and I have since learned that your brother cap- 
tured one of the notes, although I have heard that he 
did not know one word therein. After learning this, my 
mother encouraged his coming to the house, and she 
took quite a fancy to him herself. She also thought 
that she was breaking off an objectionable engagement, 
and was surprised when she learned that M. La Bau 
was the one her parents so much objected to. He had 
followed her to our seaside resort. He treated her very 
cruelly, however, and deserted her when she did not 
receive remittances. She has returned to her father’s 
home with her infant, a broken-hearted girl. ’ ’ 

Beatrix sat with her head slightly bent forward, a 
hand resting on each arm of the chair, looking earn- 
estly, attentively at the speaker during the recital of 
this story. Her face was thoughtful and sad. 

“How very sorry I am for dear Maud,” said she. 
“I loved her much, she was so kind and affectionate. 
I do not see how any one could have the heart to treat 
her unkindly.” 

A puzzled look passed across his face, while a 
moment elapsed before he made her any answer. 

“Yes,” he said, “she was a girl of kind and gener- 
ous impulses. I am sorry she could not have found 
some one more worthy of her love.” 

“You see her very often, I presume. Will you 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


217 


kindly remember me to her, and tell her I very often 
think of her?” 

“I may not see her again very soon. I fear your 
message may escape my mind.” 

“ I hope I may meet her accidentally, as I chanced to 
meet you,” she said, a faint smile passing over her 
sweet lips. 

“Yes, I thought we had met for the last time to 
meet no more,” he replied with icy coldness, as he was 
silently blaming himself for coming. 

The words fell on her warm, tender heart like a 
heavy weight. There was a wishful, pathetic look on 
her face, but she was silent and embarrassed. Seeing 
her embarrassment, he continued: “Your brother is 
not here, I see. I am sorry he is out, as I came almost 
expressly to see him. I had hoped to find him in. Do 
you think he will soon be home?” 

“I am sure he will be back soon, as he wanted very 
much to see you. Mr. Murray kindly offered him his 
horses for a drive. He is so fond of driving fast horses 
that I suppose the time has slipped away more swiftly 
than he has realized. He has very often spoken of you 
before we came to New York, and said he should surely 
hunt you up, should he make a visit here. I do hope 
you will remain a little longer, for he will be very 
much disappointed to find you have gone,” she pleaded, 
as Carl had risen from his chair and taken his hat and 
cane from the table. 

“He is very kind to give me a thought. I hope I 
shall again see him before he leaves,” he answered in 
the same severe, cold tone. 


218 THAT OTHER WOMAN. 

“I am certain you will, as he has promised himself 
that pleasure/’ she replied. 

Carl walked restlessly to and fro, then went to the 
mantelpiece, put his elbows upon it and stood a 
moment in thought, then slowly he crossed hack to 
where Beatrix sat and stood quite still, gazing at her 
with cold scrutiny. 

Beatrix, on seeing Carl standing, also arose and stood 
before him with bent head and quivering lips, as she 
said tremulously, “I expect I shall return to Boston 
soon, and we may never meet again.” 

“That you consider your home, I believe,” he said, 
with cold indifference. 

She sighed heavily. “Yes, that is my home.” 

“I hear that it is a very pleasant one.” 

“It is very comfortable,” she answered. She was 
struggling hard to control her emotion and appear un- 
concerned. 

“I think your brother told me he was making only a 
short visit here, and that your father came at your solic- 
itation.” 

With averted face, she answered: “I was very anx- 
ious to come, although I have visited the city before, 
but never to remain quite so long.” 

“You may be so pleased with the city and the people 
that you will decide to come here and live the rest of 
your life,” he retorted with cold hauteur. 

“Oh! no, no, never,” she cried in a tone of despair. 
She uplifted her dreamy, wistful eyes to his. She 
found no response to her tortured, wounded heart. He 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


219 


wore the same unaltered, stern, cold look. Her face 
grew very pale and her voice was very low when she 
again spoke. “I hear you are to he married soon.” 
Her lips trembled, her voice faltered as she said these 
words. 

“Indeed!” was the only word he uttered in response. 

Her eyelids drooped, her breath came fast and quick. 
She was trying to subdue the gnawing pain at her heart. 
She bent her head in silence. She was making every 
effort to keep back the tears that had come unbidden to 
her eyes. 

Carl did not avert his gaze from her face an instant, 
but stood calmly, coldly, quietly scanning every change 
in her countenance, with his hat and cane in one hand 
and gently stroking his mustache with the other. 

“You have my best wishes, and I hope you will be 
very, very happy.” These words she spoke hardly 
above a whisper. 

Carl looked pale, proud, disdainful. “I ought to be 
very grateful to you for your kind wishes,” he re- 
sponded, his lips curving with cold contempt. 

“You do not understand me, I am sure you do not,” 
she said, with a little hysterical laugh that often comes 
before weeping. 

“I may understand too well. I thought I could re- 
turn the same kind wishes to you that you have been 
kind enough to bestow on me, since when I entered the 
room I feared I interrupted a very affectionate scene,” 
the same sneer still lingering about his mouth. 

The beautiful head still lower drooped. The setting 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


220 

sun was now sending a dim shadowy light through the 
room as she stood silently resting her eyes on the carpet 
beneath her. Her voice was hushed with emotion. 

Carl’s brow was knit and clouded. He waited a 
moment for a reply; none came. 

He again spoke in a low, deep, earnest tone : 

‘ ‘Great heavens, Beatrix Boynton, are you satisfied to 
adorn yourself in fine clothing and place yourself before 
the eyes of men as a passionless, heartless beautv, to make 
conquests, to tamper with their affections, without any 
care or thought of the anguish you are inflicting? To 
subdue, to humiliate, to subjugate; to make yourself a 
thing to be admired simply as a beautiful statue; to be 
flattered, adored, and have men how down to you like so 
many slaves in admiration of your beauty? Is that 
your only ambition; to dominate over slaves? Or do 
you crave social power, and is your greed so great for 
gold that you will sell yourself to the highest bidder, 
barter your soul for money? Is that your only ?” 

Carl paused abruptly without finishing the last sen- 
tence. Beatrix was sobbing violently. She had fallen 
hack into the chair unable to combat with her emotion 
longer. Both elbows were resting on one arm, her 
handkerchief pressed closely over her face with both 
hands. She was weeping passionately, bitterly, like 
a child.* 

Carl listened a moment at her violent weeping, and 
stared in silence at her. He was utterly astonished, 
perplexed. The same puzzled expression stole over his 
features he had worn so often while in conversation with 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


221 


her during the afternoon. His face softened in its ex- 
pression. The hard, cold look had slightly melted away 
as he saw those genuine tears. He was unprepared for 
that. He had never seen her show any emotion before 
except for music, and that he knew she was exceedingly 
fond of. He knew he had spoken with great impa- 
tience, coldness, even harshness, and seeing her sincere 
grief, he relented. He was neither heartless nor illiber- 
al, but he had doubted her sincerity. He thought she 
was devoid of any affection, and he had thought and 
hoped that the old love for her had been destroyed 
within him. 

“Beatrix, I am very sorry I have given you so much 
cause for unhappiness and grief. I know I have spoken 
very harshly, for I spoke in anger. ” He bent over her, 
resting his hand lightly on her head and gently stroked 
her hair. “I hope you will not further distress your- 
self at my hasty, unkind and thoughtless words,” he 
soothingly said. 

His voice was soft and kind. She partly raised her 
head from her desponding attitude. “I will not detain 
you longer. Only let me once more be alone; please 
do not stay,” she pleaded in broken sobs. “The fault 
is all mine. I have acted unwisely. I know it all 
now,” she added. 

She again covered her face and the excited, nervous 
sobbing came only the faster and more bitter. Beatrix’s 
weeping had unmanned him, and made him very 
wretched. He did not know how to act to console her. 
He walked backward and forward nervously in the 


222 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


room, uncertain how best to act. Turning toward the 
door he met Joe at the entrance just coming in. Bea- 
trix arose and quickly disappeared in the adjoining 
room, her sleeping apartment, closing and locking the 
door after her. Joe greeted him cordially, saying he 
was sorry not to have been home sooner. Carl was dis- 
trait and impatient to get away, and in no mood for 
conversing. He rushed for the stairs without making 
Joe any answer, leaving him to stare after him in won- 
derment. Taking a cab at the hotel, he drove rapidly 
home, and entering the house, went directly to his room 
and rang the hell for a servant. “A little dry toast 
and coffee is all I wish. You may serve it here,” he 
said to the attendant. “Tell my mother I am well, but 
do not wish to be disturbed by any one. If there are 
any callers. I cannot see them. Remember my orders. ” 
When alone Carl seated himself in a large, easy chair 
before the open grate, locked the door and gave himself 
up to thinking. He drank a few sips of coffee that had 
been brought, but not a morsel did he eat. “Was Bea- 
trix Boynton the artful, intriguing girl his mother had 
pictured her to be? Was it possible for any one with 
such childlike, innocent manners, and lovely face to be 
anything but natural? If her manner is assumed and 
acquired, her acting is perfect. In all my travels and 
experience with women, which has not been limited, I 
have never seen anything better done. Why did she 
refuse me at first? That is one thing I do not under- 
stand. Has she since learned of my wealth and posi- 
tion, and is she now willing to marry me for that?’ ’ She 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


323 

puzzled him in his early days when first he met her. 
She puzzled him more now. “Poor Murray, he looked 
dejected; he was evidently in love with her. Why so 
much emotion when she spoke of hearing I was to be 
married? Surely that was not assumed.” So he 
mused, gazing at the open fire, until long after mid- 
night. 


224 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“My son, are you alone? Where is Beatrix? Have 
you seen her?” cheerfully inquired Mr. Boynton, when 
he went to dinner and found Joe eating alone, having 
been detained talking business with some one in the 
corridor of the hotel. 

“I was nearly famished, I could not wait any longer 
for any one. The drive in the park and the exercise of 
holding those horses has given me an excellent appetite. 
I shall not yearn, or beg for the pleasure of driving 
those horses very soon again. I was tired, I was cold, 
I was hungry. Did not know as I should ever be able 
to manage a knife and fork again.” Joe talked on in a 
light-hearted way, without answering directly his 
father’s question. 

“Mr. Murray is very proud of his horses, and they 
are very fine animals. He has been exceedingly kind 
and generous during our stay here. He knew you were 
fearless and strong of wrist, and probably thought you 
would enjoy the drive. We must invite him to our 
home in Boston and repay him, if possible, for his 
many kindnesses. We are very much indebted to him, 
and I cannot comprehend why he should be so inter- 
ested in our pleasure, but I fully appreciate it.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


225 


“It is as plain as daylight to me, although I think 
Murray had some design on our lives, governor,” Joe 
laughingly said, and Mr. Boynton laughed with him. 

“Why does not Beatrix come to dinner?” again he 
inquired. 

“I have not seen her. As soon as I returned home I 
went directly to our room, as I was anxious to see Clay- 
ton and have a chat with him. Not a word would he 
speak. He was mum as a nutshell, and acted some- 
thing like a sea monster, almost knocking me down to 
get away. Beatrix I did not even have a chance to 
look at. She skipped out of the room into her own as 
lively as a cricket and locked herself in. I knocked at 
the door and inquired if she was coming to dinner. She 
answered through the closed door and asked to be ex- 
cused, saying she had a severe headache, and wished 
to be quiet, and that she could not eat any dinner.” 

“I am very sorry to hear that. I think this is the 
first time I ever heard her make any complaint of ill 
health. I hope she will soon recover.” 

“You need not be anxious, father. Beatrix enjoys 
the most perfect health generally. I presume she will 
be in her usual good health by to-morrow. When I 
returned home I did not know what had happened. I 
thought I had struck a lunatic asylum. Beatrix and 
Clayton flew in opposite directions out of the room the 
minute I entered. Immediately a^fter I ran across Mur- 
ray in the hall and he growled at me like a bear. I in- 
tended to humbly thank him for the lively time I had 
to keep his horses from running away with us, and 


m 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


breaking our necks. I concluded they had both offered 
themselves and been refused. Women are at the bot- 
tom of all trouble, governor. Why don’t they take me 
for an example, and let them alone? A dozen of them 
make fools of themselves by falling in love with one 
woman.” 

“Beatrix would not by design cause a moment’s pain 
to anyone, and it is hardly possible that any girl would 
refuse Mr. Clayton, with his wealth, position, handsome 
face and figure and courteous manners,” answered Mr. 
Boynton. 

Beatrix Boynton’s gentle, loving, sensitive nature 
was crushed and wounded at the harsh words Carl 
Clayton had uttered. The rebuke had vibrated to her 
heart like a sharp knife. She knew he had misunder- 
stood her, and if he had been less cold and severe she 
could have explained all, but from the moment he had 
entered her presence he had treated her with great cold- 
ness and indifference that had injured her feelings so 
that the little life history she would have revealed to 
him she was forced from expressing by his severity. 
She knew he had no mercy for deceit or artifice, and she 
had a deep sense of his nobility of character. She still 
loved him with all her youthful ardor, and had looked 
forward with eager joy to the time when she should 
again see him ; had looked and watched so patiently for 
so many months, and now he loved another. “Yes, he 
loves her, he loves her.” She repeated this again and 
again in the anguish of her soul, in the darkness and 
silence of her room. She suffered all the torments of a 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


227 


woman who loves and has been loved in return, and is 
convinced that the love that was once hers is all given 
to another, never to be reclaimed. But not a word of 
blame or reproach had she to utter against him, for she 
well knew it was her fault only. 

“He will be married to that beautiful girl I have so 
often met him with and be happy, and he deserves it, 
while I shall be weeping over my sad fate, due to no 
act of mine.’ ’ She sat there in thought she know not 
how long. Slowly the cold moonbeams stole over her 
sorrowful, beautiful face. She was still there when the 
first soft shade of daylight broke into the room. Her 
thoughts had been too agonizing for sleep. She at last 
arose, walked slowly to the bed without disrobing, and 
went to sleep from utter exhaustion. She slept until 
her little watch on the bureau pointed to 9 o’clock. As 
she wearily arose and threw aside her dress for a simple, 
loosely made gown of cream color trimmed with lace, 
the thought came back to her of the cruel words Carl 
had spoken. She threw herself back on the bed face 
downward, resting on her beautiful bare arms and 
sobbed bitterly. Hearing her name called, and a knock 
on the door, she hastily arose and inquired who it was. 

“I felt anxious about you, my dear, and came to in- 
quire if you were sick,” her father said. 

“I hav« a slight headache and will have a little break- 
fast in my room, if j t ou will excuse me a short time 
longer,” she answered, without opening the door. 

“Very well, dear. I am in no hurry. Do not has- 
ten; take time to eat your breakfast, I will wait here 
until you oome.” 


m 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


She sent for her breakfast, but could not eat any. 
Every mouthful choked her. She bathed her eyes that 
were yet red with weeping, and twisted her soft, brown 
hair in a heavy coil on the top of her head and held it 
in place by an arrow of shell, and tired and restless, 
went out to their little parlor, where her father sat read- 
ing the morning paper, waiting patiently for her. He 
rose as she entered, went toward her, and kissed her 
affectionately. 

“Why, my darling, you look pale, nervous, sick. I 
was sorry to learn last night that you were too ill to 
dine with your father. Have you not yet recovered 
from your headache, dear?” inquired he, looking 
anxiously at her. 

She simply nodded her head in response. 

“I have brought you some lilies of the valley, the 
flower you love so much, my dear. See,” said he, 
pointing to a vase standing on a table near. 

She w r alked slowly toward the flowers, bent low her 
head over them to partly hide her face from his gaze. 

“You are always kind and ever thoughtful, my dear 
father. It was very good and considerate to bring those 
sweet flowers to me. I do not know how I could ever 
live without you,” she said with sadness. 

“My dear daughter, why do you grieve so? I am 
anxious to make you happy. Anything that I can do 
to make your life pleasant it would be a pleasure to do. 
But you must not grieve your young life away,” he 
said in mild reproof. 

‘ I sometimes grieve to think I have ever given you 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


229 


an unkind thought, for I now know you have been one 
of the best of fathers,” she answered, with a sudden and 
deep pathos, as she bent lower her head over the flowers 
and passed her hand rapidly across her eyes. 

“But you must not grieve over the past, as all your 
life you have done your duty.” 

“I hope so,” was the faint reply. 

“That thought ought to be a great consolation to you 
when you think of the dead.” 

“I think of the dead only as in peace and rest.” 

There was great sadness in her voice as she uttered 
these words. 

“Then do not grieve, my dear, but derive what hap- 
piness and pleasure you can while you live. There are 
others left on earth for you to love, and those who love 
you devotedly. Your duty is with them.” 

She sighed as she listened. “I should like very much 
to go home. I think I should be far happier living in 
quietude in our comfortable home alone with brother 
Joe and you, my dear papa, than in this cold, gay city. 
I meet strangers. They do not understand me. I do 
not understand them.” 

Mr. Boynton looked at her astonished. “You sur- 
prise me, my daughter. Only yesterday I think it was 
that I heard you say you were perfectly happy here, and 
would like, to live here forever and make it your per- 
manent home. I really do not understand why you 
have changed your mind so suddenly.” 

“It may seem strange to you that I have changed so 
hastily, and I do not think I can give you the motive, 


230 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


but I am very tired of living here and would like to go 
to my peaceful, quiet home.” She had seated herself 
by the table, with her back almost turned to him, one 
elbow rested on the table, her cheek on her hand. 

4 4 My dear, I was under the impression that you] were 
enjoying yourself immensely. Theatres, operas, con- 
certs, horse shows and no end of amusements and meet- 
ing of old acquaintances. I thought your life here very 
agreeable, very pleasant.” 

4 4 Life here seems cruel, heartless, pitiless, cold, un- 
bearable,” she answered with warmth. 

44 I cannot understand my child. Why so dissatis- 
fied? Why so sad to-day? and why this haste?” per- 
sisted her father. 

44 1 cannot explain; indeed, I cannot. But lam very 
impatient to get off.” 

“How soon would you like to go, my dear?” inquired 
he, still puzzled. 

4 4 To-morrow, the [day after, to-day, if possible,” she 
answered, with a little impatience. 

4 4 Something must have annoyed you greatly. I am 
sorry you are so unhappy to-day,” he said, in vague 
anxiety. 

Turning to him, and seeing how anxious he appeared, 
she crossed to where he sat and put her trembling, cold, 
hands in his. 4 4 My dear papa, I fear I am unreason- 
able, nervous to-day. I did not feel quite well, but it 
is not anything serious. I hope it will soon wear off. 
Do not let me disarrange any of your plans. I will 
stay longer if you think you can be happier here. It 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


231 


seems so thoroughly inconsistent and selfish in me to 
consider only my own wishes without consulting the 
pleasure of others that are very dear to me,” she said in 
a sympathetic tone. 

“My darling, to consult the happiness of my children 
is my greatest pleasure. I have some business to attend 
to. I will find Joe at once and we will go immediately 
downtown. I know he is anxious to get home. I 
think we shall be able to leave by to-morrow night. 
So you can get everything in readiness.’ * 

Her father having kissed her good-by, left her alone. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN, 


m 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Beatrix began at once with feverish haste making 
preparations to leave. She had gathered all her things 
together, and was placing them safely in her trunk, hop- 
ing her father would decide to go that evening, so 
anxious was she to get away. The vexatious torture 
of heartache, of alternating pleasure and pain that 
make up the life in the world that she had sought for so 
eagerly, had brought to her only unhappiness and dis- 
appointment. She now looked to her quiet home as the 
only shelter of repose, the only safe, peaceful, serene 
place on earth. Her heart seemed empty and desolate. 
Seeing Carl Clayton had revived afresh her love. He 
had never looked handsomer, more lovable, more ele- 
gant than when she first met him after so long an 
absence. We never appreciate or value our happiness, 
our possessions, more than when we are about to be de- 
prived of them. Her night had been sleepless, the day 
had been one of fasting ; she had nearly finished her 
task, when she again gave herself up to thinking. She 
threw herself in a large armchair. Resting her arm 
on the table, she bowed her head upon it and gave way 
to a fresh burst of weeping. 

It was now nearly 2 o’clock in the afternoon, when 


That other woman. 


233 


an attendant entered with a silver salver bearing a card 
upon it. “Who can it be? Who is it?” inquired she 
wearily, slowly raising her head from her arm. 

The servant stood quite still near the door hesitating, 
and stared at her attitude of grief in bewilderment. 

“I am not expecting any one. I know no one who 
should call on me. Who would take the trouble? 
Bring it here.” Without moving from her chair, she 
indifferently, mechanically took the card from the 
salver. When she read the name of Carl Clayton, she 
was amazed. She opened her eyes wide with surprise. 
The card dropped to the floor from her trembling 
fingers. She threw back her head against the cushion 
of the chair and shivered with emotion, and a deep- 
drawn sigh escaped her. “I cannot see him. No, I 
cannot,” recovering her composure. It is impossible. 
Do you not see I am very busy?” she said to the serv- 
ant, looking pleadingly at him. 

“Yes, mum, I see. I’ll go and tell him yez out, 
shall I?” 

“Tell him anything to keep him away,” she said 
imploringly. “Tell him I am not able to see any one. 
Tell him I am not well, which can be truthfully said, 
for I am quite sick enough to be in bed.” 

“Indade and yez are, miss, yez look dreadful. Any 
one could see with half an ej r e that yez is a sick lady. 
I’ll get rid of him meself. The idea of bothering a 
swate lady like yerself, ” he muttered, as he hurried 
from the room. 

“What can it all mean? He seemed to be so bored 


234 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


yesterday and yet he comes again to-day. Probably 
repenting of his cruel words, he comes to seek my par- 
don. But I cannot trust myself to see him. Better 
for me never again to meet him, for he is engaged to 
some one else. He the same as admitted it yesterday, 
at least he did not deny it,” she mused. 

The attendant soon returned with a broad grin on 
his face holding a silver coin in one hand. “Indade, 
miss, and he says he must see yez and he is such a rale 
gentleman, and so very handsome, and it is only jest for 
a minute as he wants to see yez,” said the man. 

“Oh! no, no! Ask him to please excuse me. Tell 
him I am very tired and busy,'* she answered, with 
weariness and languor, her head still resting against 
the back of the chair, her hands lying listlessly in her 
lap. 

“Only for a minute he wants to see yez, miss,” again 
persisted the servant. 

“Hush!” she whispered, raising her finger; her quick 
ear had detected a step near. 

“Excuse my intrusion. I have taken the liberty to 
follow the attendant to the room, as I am not willing 
to leave without seeing you,” said a kind, melodious 
voice just outside the threshold. The voice she well 
knew. It had the same kind tone she had so often 
heard over two years ago at her little seaside cottage. 
But even then she had not the courage to meet him. 
She sprang out of her chair to her feet, to fly from his 
presence, and advanced toward her bedroom door. 
Carl walked quietly, rapidly into the room, gently put 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


235 


out his hand before her to arrest her movement, took 
hold of the knob of the door to keep her from entering 
the next room, and said kindly, mildly: “Do not go, 
Beatrix. Yesterday you wanted to see me. To-day I 
want to see you.” She pushed back her hair from her 
low broad forehead with a quick, nervous movement, 
her lips quivered, she meekly bowed her head and stood 
quietly before him without making him any answer. 
He motioned her to sit down in the chair by the table 
she had just vacated, and drew a seat beside her for 
himself. “I fear you thought me very cruel, very 
harsh, very unkind yesterday,” he said in a low, kind 
tone to her. 

Moved by a nervous restlessness, she leaned forward 
to where stood the large bunch of sweet and fragrant 
flowers, and detached one of them from its companions, 
and bent low her head over it. 

“I know I spoke very hastily, roughly,” he contin- 
ued. “If I have done you injustice I am very sorry,” 
he added dubiously. 

She sat twisting and breaking unconsciously the lit- 
tle delicate flower she held in her hand until it fell in 
fragments at her feet. 

“I judge you were not very glad to see me to-day, as 
you have not spoken a word since I came. I must try 
and make myself more agreeable,” be said in a low, 
persuasive tone that was very fascinating to most 
women. 

Her head was bent, her face was thoughtful, but still 
she was silent. 


236 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


a I hope you will forgive me, will you not, Beatrix? 
for the unkind and very thoughtless words I used to 
you?’’ he said penitently. 

“I have forgiven,” she answered sweetly. These 
were the first words she had spoken. She could not 
harbor any ill will toward any one. Malice did not 
exist in her nature. 

“I feel happier since I know I am forgiven. Some 
years ago,” he continued, “I was very much in love 
with a young girl I met at Seaview. Do you remem- 
ber the incident?” 

Her eyes filled with tears, she drew a long sigh. 
“Yes, I well remember,’' she softly answered. 

“She gave me a little white flower as a memento of 
the pleasant evening I spent with her on the beautiful 
grounds by the sea, like the small remnant you have 
remaining in your hand,” he said, leaning over with 
his usual grace and taking it gently from her. “She 
refused me, I never knew why,” 

Carl, looked studiously, silently at her, waiting for a 
reply. None came. The silence was broken only by 
a low sigh. 

“Would she be willing to tell me why?” in the same 
kind, gentle tone, he inquired. Carl Clayton was 
watching her intently. His love had only slumbered 
to be awakened by the first touch. She now knew she 
held a place in his heart that no other woman would 
ever hold. She looked up at him with a sad, pathetic 
expression on her face. His kind, gentle manner had 
given her fresh courage. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 237 

“I am very anxious to tell you,” she said faintly, 
smiling through her tears. 

She hesitated. ‘‘Shall I tell you now ? It is a sad, 
long story. I am afraid it will weary you. Do you 
really think it will interest you?” 

“However long, I will listen to you patiently; it will 
give me pleasure to do so. Perhaps another day will 
do as well, I think you need rest,” said her companion 
kind ly . “ Y ou look very weary and exhausted to-day. * * 

“I think to-day will probably be the only time, the 
only opportunity, I will ever have to tell you, since I 
leave the city to-morrow perhaps forever, and it will 
be a relief to my mind to tell you a little of my dear 
mother’s sad history as well as my own. Then I hope 
you will think more kindly of me. You will then 
know how you have misjudged me.” 

“I am exceedingly sorry if I have done so, or given 
you cause for unhappiness,” he answered compassion- 
ately. 

Beatrix passed her hand gently across her forehead 
as if to collect her ideas, as she sat silently thinking a 
few moments. 

Carl was carefully, thoughtfully watching her every 
moment. Her face was very pale. Her eyes were 
swollen with weeping; there were dark circles under 
them. Her delicately and sweetly molded mouth 
drooped with a plaintive expression at the corners, and 
her whole manner had the appearance of intense suffer- 
ing and sadness, mingled with fatigue and lassitude. 

Carl broke the silence. “You have not yet told me 


238 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


why, Beatrix. Why do you hesitate so, when you see 
I am so anxious to hear your story ?” he inquired en- 
couragingly. 

She put her finely poised head a little on one side, her 
eyes resting thoughtfully on the carpet. “I am not 
quite sure hut it will bore you,” she said doubtfully. 

“It will greatly interest me. It would not be possi- 
ble for you to bore me. I admit I have been much 
angered, and the error may have been mine,” he said, 
still a little in doubt. He leaned forward and gently 
took in his the hand that was resting on the cushioned 
arm of the chair to give her courage to speak. “Your 
hand is icy cold, and you are looking very pale. I do 
not think you ought to exert yourself much to-day. I 
do not think you can be well. Do you not think you 
need rest?” inquired he, with pity and pathos in his 
voice. 

“Oh! no! I shall feel much better when I have ex- 
plained that which now to you seems most strange.” 
Beatrix commenced and told him as briefly as possible 
of her mother’s sad life. “I was surrounded by 
mystery. My father’s name was never mentioned to 
me,” she said. ‘ ‘ I thought if I told you chat, you would 
regret your offer and never again want to see me; and 
such a good kind father as he is, and always has been. 
I cannot say too much in his praise,” she added, in a 
very low, pathetic tone. 

“And the mystery of your life is the only reason you 
refused me, Beatrix?” 

“That was my only reason,” she answered, very 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


239 


faintly. The color by this time had all fled from her 
face, and left her perfectly colorless. 

“And you loved me then?” 

“Yes, I loved you then,” murmured Beatrix, half- 
consciously, while her hands fell listlessly over the 
arms of the chair, her head rolled over on one side, and 
she slid noiselessly down on the floor and lay motion- 
less at his feet. 


240 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Beatrix Boynton’s hidden grief and the torture 
she had endured from the harsh words she had received 
from the one she had loved so fondly, and for whom she 
had watched so long with anticipation of so much pleas- 
ure at once more meeting, together with the long fast 
and sleepless night, had been too much for her already 
overwrought nerves, and she had swooned from utter 
weakness, exhaustion and nervous emotion. 

Carl started, drew in his breath and looked down at 
her in surprise. He lifted her up from the floor in his 
arms, gently laid her upon the lounge, and hastily rang 
the bell for the servant. “Miss Boynton has simply 
fainted. Bring some water quickly and send the maid 
at once,” he said to him. They bathed her head and 
chafed her hands. In a few moments after she began 
to return to consciousness. There was a slight move- 
ment of the lips. She was saying something to herself, 
unconscious of her surroundings. Carl bent low toward 
her and listened closely. 

“Yes, Carl, I loved you always, always.” 

These were the words Carl alone heard her utter. 

Beatrix slowly opened her eyes from these murmur- 
ings, and started wildly, vacantly at those about her. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


241 


She soon remembered the past. A cold nervous 
shiver ran over her as she slowly raised herself to a sit- 
ting posture. “She will not need your assistance 
longer,” Carl said to the servants. “You may go and 
send up some hot bouillon immediately. Here is some- 
thing strengthening. You had better take it at once,” 
he said, as he took the cup from the hands of the ser- 
vant. She shook her head with a sad, sorrowful ges- 
ture without speaking. 

“Will you not do that much to please me?” he said, 
in a low, kind voice. “I command obedience. I am 
your master hereafter.” 

A sense of great happiness had come into Carl’s life. 
He now knew that Beatrix loved him. A sweet smile 
broke over her face like sunshine coming through 
clouds. Her dreamy, appealing eyes turned upward 
to his inquiringly. A thrill quivered through his veins 
as he met the soft, wistful eyes of the woman he loved 
uplifted to his. He could not disguise it from himself 
longer. He loved her passionately — loved her as 
ardently as he did from the first, when he had met her 
a few years previously at the seaside. He drew 
closely to her, gently put his arm around her waist. 

“Drink it, darling; you must obey me. It will do 
you good. You are unnerved and weak. I have been 
very cruel, but I am going to redeem myself, and 
always be considerate and kind to you in the future,” 
he said tenderly. 

Beatrix took the cup and drained the contents. 

“What do you mean?” she inquired breathlessly, in- 


242 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


nocently, with an accent of eager hope, as a faint blush 
came into her dazzlingly white skin. Her beautiful 
brown hair had loosened and hung in tangled meshes 
over her shoulders. The loose sleeves of her garment 
had slipped back, exposing her exquisitely moulded soft 
white arms. The timid, blushing girl he so well re- 
membered seemed to him more beautiful than ever in 
her simple, cream white morning robe. “ Idiot I must 
have been to have thought her anything else but a sweet 
lovely girl devoid of any art,” he thought. 

“I mean, dearest, that I will share your sorrows and 
pleasures all my life. No shadow, no cloud shall ever 
cross your pathway if I have power to shelter you from 
it. If possible, I will make your future all sunshine.” 

Her lips parted slightly in surprise; she uplifted her 
face lovingly to his and laid her hand gently upon his 
arm. 

He took her hand from his arm, carried it to his lips 
and kissed it tenderly. “Do you not think I have had 
reason to doubt your love, Beatrix? You have never 
yet in your conscious moments for once expressed in 
any way to me your love.” 

Her hands stole softly, tenderly around his neck, and 
she rested her head in a long embrace upon his breast. 
“Yes, dearest Carl, I love you more than I can tell. I 
loved you long ago, loved you only,” she softly mur- 
mured, in a tone of delight. 

“Such a wicked, sweet one you have been to keep me 
in doubt for so long,” he said laughingly. 

“I do not like to think of it, Carl. I think I have 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


243 


behaved very badly. I am the one that ought to redeem 
myself instead of you, but I will promise to be very, 
very good in the future.” 

“I will guard your life, darling, as carefully as I 
have kept this little flower you gave me long ago.” 
Carl took from his vest pocket a small well-worn en- 
velope, which contained dry faded leaves of a lily of the 
valley. The dried leaves scattered over Beatrix’s dress 
as he turned the envelope upside down, and held out the 
palm of his hand to receive the contents. “See how 
faithful I have been and how long I have loved you.” 

Beatrix looked at him in astonishment. She picked 
up the faded leaves and the little dried flower from her 
dress. 

“You will not care for these any longer, will you, 
Carl? As you will have me instead of the withered 
flower. I hope I shall not wither and fade as quickly, 
for I fear your love would fade also.” 

“Such beauty as yours, my love, always lasts. Years 
may pass over you, age may furrow your brow, gray 
hairs whiten your head, yet you will still grow in 
beauty as your whole life has been one scene of kind- 
ness, love and truth. Such women never fade.” 

“Iam so pleased to know you have changed your 
opinion and do not think so badly of me as you did yes- 
terday. Now you love me for myself, don’t you, Carl? 
Once you loved me simply because you thought I was 
pretty. Such love as that soon dies out. But I 
thought you were engag — ” She hesitated without 
finishing the sentence. The thought of losing him 


244 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


seemed more dreadful to her than the loss of her own 
life. 

Her companion looked fondly at her as he saw a 
faint, pink flush steal over her lovely face. “ Say it, 
dear. It cannot alter the facts, ‘engaged. ’ No I am 
not engaged to any one but my own sweet Beatrix. But 
if you had only trusted me at first, darling, your suffer- 
ings would have made you only the dearer to me. I 
could not have loved you very much if I could not have 
borne some sorrow for your sake.’* 

“I made a great mistake, dearest Carl, but I know 
you have forgiven me and I shall always have perfect 
faith and trust in you in the future, and never again 
keep any secret of sorrow or pleasure from you. But 
your mother, do you think I shall please her? she in- 
quired thoughtfully. 

“When she knows you well, you will please her, I 
am sure,” he answered consolingly. 

“I hope so. I shall try very hard for your sake, 
Carl, but you know she is very fond of Miss Child ; at 
least I have been so informed.” 

“Yes, it seems to have been her pet anticipation that 
I should marry her, and she as well as Miss Child have 
taken some pains to cultivate the report of our engage- 
ment, and I do not know but that I should have sub- 
mitted if I had not again met you; but I have now con- 
sulted my own heart. Why should I not make the 
selection of the companion of my life? On that one 
subject at least I think I am justified in making a 
choice to please myself. I am always anxious to please 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


245 


my mother, but in this I think she has been a little un- 
reasonable.” 

“You will always love me, Carl, won’t you, and not 
let your mother influence you against me, or any one 
else supplant me in your affections?” 

“My own sweet one, no earthly power can separate 
us now. You are safely entwined around my heart. 
No rival can ever sever us. Why do you have these 
doubts?” 

“I am so very happy I fear it cannot last,” she 
answered, as she looked timidly, lovingly up to his 
face. 

He gazed fondly down into her eyes and pressed her 
closely to his heart, and pressed his lips to hers. 

“By Jove, governor, see what the young folks will 
do when you are out of sight,” Joe said to his father as 
they had entered the room unnannounced. 

Carl arose, approached toward Mr. Boynton and 
extended his hand. “We only want your consent to 
make our happiness complete.” 

Mr. Boynton shook Carl’s hand heartily, then crossed 
to where Beatrix was and embraced her tenderly. “I 
was always very proud of my daughter. I am now 
prouder than ever for her choice.” 

“Well, Clayton,” Joe said, “I will congratulate you 
when I recover from these bruises on my arms where 
you thumped and knocked me around yesterday in your 
haste to get off.” 

Carl laughed and they all laughed with him. “I had 
a puzzle on my mind. I wanted to get Jbome to think 
it out.” ----- 


246 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


“The devil of a puzzle you must have had to knock 
everything over that came within your reach. You 
were in such a peculiar state of mind I did not know 
but that you took me for a football.” 

“When you are in love, Joe, I shall overlook every- 
thing you do, however extravagant it may be. I hope 
I shall prove to be a model brother-in-law.” Carl 
glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It is after 6 
o’clock I see. I had no idea it was so late. Time has 
passed so rapidly. Do you think you will go to-mor- 
row? Can you not defer it a few days longer?” he said, 
addressing these last remarks to Mr. Boynton. 

“Most assuredly I will defer it if my children are 
anxious to lengthen their visit. Yesterday my daugh- 
ter was very anxious to get away from you. To-day 
she seems anxious to stay where you are,” he answered 
with a laugh. 

“I think I will [change my mind again, papa dear,” 
Beatrix said, going to him, softly patting him on the 
cheek, and smilingly looking up to his face. 

“I will answer that question myself,” said Joe. 
“You have such an indulgent father, I know you could 
induce him to do anything you asked, however unrea- 
sonable. I suppose if you asked him to take a trip to 
the moon and invite the gentleman that inhabits it to 
make an earthly visit to you, he would make an effort 
to get there some way, but you hustled me off in great 
haste this morning to secure berths on the boat for to- 
morrow night. It was at your suggestion that we pur- 
chased tickets at this early date, and I propose to go 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


247 


and take you along with us. You will see enough of 
your future husband hereafter, ” he said with a good- 
natured laugh, nodding his head at her the while. 

A slight shade of disappointment passed over Bea- 
(Jptrix’s face. She made no reply to her brother’s re- 
marks, but turning to Carl and putting out both hands 
to him, said: “I am so very sorry, but you will come 
and see me to-morrow before I go, will you not?” 

“I will come in to-morrow as early as possible and 
will take you in my carriage to the boat later in the 
day,” he answered. Carl bade them all good-night and 
left. 

On his return home he broke the news to his mother 
as gently as possible. Mrs. Clayton, when first hear- 
ing of her son’s engagement, paled with anger. She 
was greatly disappointed, and did not hesitate to express 
her dissatisfaction. She stormed, raged, and entreated 
in turns. When she found he was deaf to all argu- 
ments and exhortations, she succumbed and wished him 
happiness, but inwardly, secretly hoped something 
would happen to prevent the marriage. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


m 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Alone and in the silence of her little bedroom Bea- 
trix thought over her new, sudden happiness. “Only 
last night I was so very wretched and now I am deliri- 
ously happy. ’ ’ What a day it had been, beginning with 
the darkest clouds and ending with the greatest felicity 
for her. 

“How beautiful everything looks to me.” 

She glanced out of the window up to the pale moon 
that was shedding a soft light over the yet bright, busy 
city. A shadow came over her sweet face as she 
thought of his mother’s disapproval. “What if any- 
thing should happen to take him from me?” she mur- 
mured in thought. As she knelt beside the bed to offer 
up her evening prayer, she fervently prayed for the one 
she loved so fondly and for his mother’s reconciliation, 
and that she might do her duty in all things. Her 
night slumber was dreamless and peaceful. She awoke 
in the morning refreshed, rose early, had everything in 
readiness to leave long before noon, and sat impatiently 
waiting in her little parlor nearly an hour before Carl 
came. “I surely thought you would be here long be- 
fore this. I have been so anxious to see you. It seems 
many hours that I have waited, Carl,” said she as she 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


249 

eagerly opened the door for him to enter on hearing his 
footsteps. 

“I was in hopes to be able to get here before, but I 
have been very busy this morning for you, darling,” he 
replied, looking down into her soft eyes. 

She wound her arms around his neck and puckered 
up her sweet mouth for him to kiss. He stooped and 
kissed her upturned lips, saying : 

“I knew you would forgive me when you knew I had 
been detained for you.” 

“For me,” she said in wonder. “How could I de- 
tain you, Carl, when I have been watching so anxiously 
the clock for over an hour for you to come?” 

“I will show you what has kept me so long.” 

He took from under his arm a pale, blue p_ush 
box, opened it and drew forth a large, exquisite soli- 
taire diamond ring, also a large heart-shaped pendant, 
with a spray of lilies of the valley set with large dia- 
monds. 

“Oh! how beautiful, how magnificent,” she ex- 
claimed. “Are they really for me?” she inquired, in 
surprise. 

“I bought them expressly for you, dearest.” 

“Why did you get anything so very valuable for me? 
I do not know why you should,” she timidly said. 

He gently drew her left hand toward him and slipped 
the ring on the third finger. It sparkled with great 
brilliancy. Then he took the heart and pinned it to the 
neck of her dress. “Look in the mirror, love, and see 
how they please you.” 


2d 0 


THAT OTHER WOMAN 1 . 


She arose, stood before the mirror, saw how they 
sparkled on neck and hand and how oostly and brilliant 
they were, and looked back at him in wonder and sur- 
prise. “Such large, expensive diamonds. How I 
sparkle. How very[kind and thoughtful you are, Carl, 
but why should I have them? Where should I wear 
them? Something more simple would have done for 
me.” 

“You will need and wear them after your marriage,” 
he answered, as he drew her toward him, kissing her 
passionately. She looked at them again and again in 
wonderment. They seemed too gorgeous for her simple 
dress. It all seemed so strange to her, for she had 
never had anything of value in diamonds before. Her 
father had once given her a ring with a small cluster 
of diamonds and those were the only ones she pos- 
sessed. 

“I was up early this morning and improved every 
moment, ’ ’ said he. “I looked at a house on Murray Hill 
that I am sure will please you. 

“Anything will please me where you are, Carl, how- 
ever simple or humble the abode,” she answered, blush- 
ing deeply. “You know my own home is very simple. 

“I desire to furnish you with one as comfortable and 
pleasant as the one you leave.” 

She held up her shapely hand, moving her fingers to 
and fro, looking at the sparkling of the many colors in 
the ring. ‘ ‘ I did not expect anything of so much value, ’ ’ 
she said with great simplicity. 

“If you forget me when you are away, you can look 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


251 


at the ring as a little reminder. That third finger was 
believed to be directly connected by a slender nerve 
with the heart itself by the ancient worshippers of 
Egypt. 

“I never can forget you, Carl. I only hope I shall 
prove worthy of you and appreciate all your kindness. ” 

“I am well pleased if you like your gifts. I feel as 
though I was still in your debt for giving into my care 
your dear, precious little self.” 

She sat in thought a few moments, with her hand 
resting on his arm, looking lovingly up into his face. 

“What are you thinking of, dear? Why look so 
serious?” 

“Carl,” there was a world of love and tenderness in 
the voice as she spoke his name. “If anything should 
happen to take you from me, I think I should die,” she 
almost whispered. 

He snatches the band from its resting-place and takes 
it to his lips. “What should happen to me, sweet love? 
You do not think I am going to drown myself, or sever 
the arteries in my throat just as my happiness seems 
complete, do you?” 

“Ho, not that, but I am so happy,” she breathes, 
“and you seem so great, good and kind that this happi- 
ness seems more than I deserve.” 

Carl laughed. “Love magnifies. I may prove to be 
a very dull old dog, but you must not have any evil 
forebodings. The clouds I hope and think have all 
passed over your youthful head. I hope to make the 
future all brightness and sunshine.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


252 

Beatrix Boynton’s young life had been so painful 
and full of disappointments and sadness that she was 
fearing some accident would snatch this sudden happi- 
ness from her grasp. They talked over their future 
plans in a dream of love, forgetful of time. Carl * 
jumped to his feet on seeing the lateness of the hour. 
“We must be off at once. How long we have been 
talking," he exclaimed. “I saw your father down- 
town and promised him I would see you safely down 
there in time for the boat ; we have no time to lose. 
Make no delay in getting ready. Drive as rapidly as 
possible. We must be there before 5 o’clock,’ ' he said 
to the coachman, on entering the carriage. Occasion- 
ally he would look out of the window and urge him to 
go faster. The whistle had sounded and the plank was 
being removed when the horses dashed upon the pier 
covered with foam. 

Joe was watching eagerly for them, and stamping 
his foot with rage. “What idiots lovers are,” he 
muttered, as the carriage drew near. 

“Hold, hold! Let that plank remain,” cried Carl, 
as he jumped from the carriage. 

“ Who the devil are you?” inquired the men. 

“Carl Clayton.” He slipped some silver pieces into 
their hands, the plank was quickly replaced, and they 
all hurried aboard, leaving Carl behind. Beatrix 
leaned over the boat, throwing kisses and waving her 
handkerchief until he could no longer be seen. 

“Carl always commands obedience. Why is it?” she 
inquired of Joe, thinking of the plank being replaced. 


That other woman. 


253 


“1 do not understand it unless he has a large interest 
in this line of boats. You can see, Trix, how you will 
have to toe the mark after } t ou are married/’ said he 
with a provoking little laugh. 

“It is very wrong to talk so, Joe. I am sure he 
will never give me a cross word ; he is all goodness, 
kindness and generosity of heart,” she answered 
somewhat indignantly. 

“That is enough to make a brass monkey laugh. 
Love is blind to all faults. I expect to be called in very 
often to settle a quarrel. You know you were never a 
success in a dispute.” 

“I shall make every effort to please him, and I do 
hope I shall succeed. I know he has no compassion 
for deceit, so I shall never give him any cause for 
anger again.” 

“If he ever should be overcome by a bad temper, just 
call upon your brother Joe. I will bring my big dog 
and all my firearms along with me and make him skip 
around lively,” Joe answered, with a mischievous nod 
of his head at her. 

“How very unkind you are,” says she, blushing 
slightly. “If you could only see the magnificent dia- 
monds he gave me. They are really worth a fortune.” 

Joe opened his eyes with surprise and gave a low 
whistle. “He is considered rich, I believe, but I did 
not know he was a man of great wealth.” 

The hour was early in the morning when they 
arrived home. The only servant in the house, old and 
faithful, answered the summons of the bell. The house 


254 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


had been closed for so many months that it looked dark 
and solitary, with the darkened windows and the furni- 
ture still clothed in its summer linen. Beatrix walked 
to and fro, singing as she went, ordering the servant to 
open the blinds to let in brightness and light. How- 
ever gloomy her surroundings, to her the future looked 
bright and beautiful. Every morning brought a letter 
from Carl, and once a week he took a trip on to see 
her. 

It was arranged that the wedding should take place 
in two months, the early part of March. The old 
homestead lost its usual air of gloominess and tranquil- 
lity during those few months of preparation. At last 
Beatrix’s simple trousseau was completed, and the day 
came bright, clear and beautiful. 

The wedding was very simple, very quiet, according 
to Beatrix’s wishes. There was no one present but her 
father, her brother and two old trusted servants to wit- 
ness the ceremony. A murmur of surprise, of disap- 
pointment, indignation and disgust ran through the cir- 
cle in which he moved when they read in one of the 
morning papers the announcement of the marriage of 
the Hon. Carl Clayton to Beatrix, only daughter of 
Joseph Boynton, of Boston, Mass. “No cards.” 

“Who is she?” so many inquired. They had never 
heard of her. Some ordinary person, was the general 
opinion, who had by her artfulness fascinated the 
wealthy, handsome and gifted Carl Clayton whom great 
heiresses, great beauties had tried in vain to win. 

“Extraordinary good fortune for her.” 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


255 


Meanwhile Carl and his lovely bride were taking a 
week’s sail in his beautiful yacht, away from the envy, 
strife and treacheries of human life, more happy alone 
in each other’s society than in the gilded halls of pomp 
and wealth. ‘ 






256 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“I only wish this could always last, Carl, such a 
happy, tranquil, peaceful life with you alone, and this 
is such a splendid boat. I feel so perfectly happy,” 
Beatrix said, glancing lovingly at him as they were ap- 
proaching New York. 

“I want you to see your new home, darling. I hope 
the one I have chosen will please you. I should be 
very sorry to disappoint you, if you are expecting any- 
thing very sumptuous,” he said, as if in doubt. 

“You need not have any fears as to that, Carl. If it 
is ever so simple, if it pleases you, I shall be perfectly 
happy in it.” 

“Are you sure, dear, you will be satisfied in a very 
simple, modest, lowly little home with me alone?” he 
inquired, looking earnestly at her. 

“Oh! my darling Carl, I am perfectly sure. I shall 
be very happy in the most simple, the most humble, the 
most lowly, the most plainly furnished home. Any- 
where with you I shall be perfectly contented,” she 
sweetly answered, while a smile of perfect happiness 
stole over her sweet, fair face, and twining her arms 
softly around his neck, she drew closely his face to hers 
and kissed him on cheek and lips. “I have those 02;- 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 257 

pensive diamonds, you remember, Carl, you gave me. 
They will bring money. I do not need them.” 

Carl laughed heartily. “I think you had better keep 
them, dearest. I would remain on the water longer, as 
it seems to please you so much, but you know we are 
to sail for Europe in a week, and my mother has a 
number of things she wished me to attend to for her.” 

She sighed a little, dreading his mother’s critical 
eye, and whispered softly to him, “If I can only please 
her.” 

“She does not know you, my love,” was his answer. 

They had now arrived in New York. Carl’s carriage 
was waiting to take them to their future home. The 
coachman stopped at an immense, stately looking man- 
sion on Fifth Avenue. A smart looking man in livery 
rushes down the broad stone steps and opens wide the 
carriage door. Carl alights quickly and puts out his 
hand to assist Beatrix. “Come, dear,” he says. 

“What place is this? It looks like a public building. 
Shall I get out, too?” 

“Yes, dear, you had better come too.” 

‘*Is this your mother’s home,” she timidly inquires. 

“No, darling, this is my dear little wife’s home.” 

“It looks so large, I did not think you would require 
anything quite so immense for two, and I understood 
by what you said our home was to be very simple,” she 
said, as she walked by his side up the broad stone steps. 
“Oh! how very grand and magnificent it is,” she ex- 
claims as she steps into a spacious and splendid marble 
hall. 


258 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


Just inside the entrance suspended from the ceiling 
hung a large horseshoe composed of lilies of the valley 
and maiden-hair fern. On the circular staircase were 
tall palms. Beatrix looked in amazement at Carl, who 
stood gazing at her with an amused smile on his face. 

“It surely is not all for us alone?” she said, in sur- 
prise. 

“ For us alone, dear. You must look at the rest of 
the house. ” 

She followed him into the large drawing rooms, 
which were tinted in soft cream and gold, beau- 
tifully frescoed and hand-painted, and upon the walls 
hung tapestry of great value. Luxurious chairs in soft 
tints of plush and velvet, rare bronzes, and marble stat- 
uary filled the rooms. Upstairs with Carl, in mute 
admiration and astonishment, she wandered from room 
to room. There were the pink room, blue room, Turk- 
ish room with its jeweled walls that sparkled with 
many colors, and her own little boudoir tinted with 
delicate blue, and hung upon the walls was light blue 
brocade with raised figures in silver color, with hand- 
paintings on the ceiling of Cupids playing hide and 
seek amid pale pink roses and lilies of the valley. 
There was everything that was useful in the most costly 
form. There was a beautiful white ivory with “Bea- 
trix” carved finely on it, vignettes set with garnets and 
rhinestones, and a small silver writing desk in one cor- 
ner with everything in readiness for use. She moved 
slowly after him like one in a dream, her feet sinking 
low down in the soft, yielding carpets as she went, 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


259 


Next came the art gallery, which contained pictures of 
all sizes by the most celebrated artists. 

She stood transfixed, gazing at the beautiful pictures, 
among them being one of herself that Carl had painted 
some few years before. 

Carl stood looking at her, smiling, greatly amused at 
her look of wonder. Then putting his arm around her 
waist he said: “Come, dear, we are not through yet. 
It will take a day to look at all those fine paintings. I 
am afraid you will fall in love with your own picture. 
You did not know your husband could 'paint such a 
good picture of yourself, did you? Well, dear,” he 
continued, without waiting for a reply, “We will take 
the elevator for the next floor, as I fear you will get 
very wearied.” 

They were whirled swiftly up to the next floor in a 
gilded lift, upholstered in pale blue plush and gold 
that might have been fitted up for a queen’s boudoir 
They moved on through an immense library into the 
billiard room. Beatrix’s eyes dilated with amazement, 
as she stood on the threshold. Carl again laughed at 
seeing her surprise. “Come up to the billiard table, 
and see if there is anything you think you would like.” 

She slowly crossed to the table, her mouth slightly 
parted, the forefinger of one hand resting on her lips, 
as though overpowered with wonder. The room dark- 
ened and brilliantly lighted with electricity and gas, 
was dazzling in appearance. It shone with brightness 
and splendor, and sparkled with many diamonds. 
These were her presents, diamond earrings, necklace, 


260 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


armlets, marked “from your beloved husband,” a sil- 
ver service from her father and brother Joe, vases of 
great value from Mrs. Clayton, and a hundred or more 
from others. Beatrix opened and shut her eyes and 
slowly passed her hand across her forehead, and looked 
up to Carl’s face in mute inquiry. She was bewildered 
by the wealth and luxury with which he had been de- 
lighted to surprise her. 

“What are you thinking, love?” inquired he, his face 
beaming all over with amusement. 

“I cannot think. I am confused, stunned and aston- 
ished beyond expression at the grandeur and magnifi- 
cence. It was all so unexpected, so sudden. Words 
are too feeble to express my thanks. I feel as though I 
had had a glimpse of fairyland. I have never seen 
anything half so grand, so beautiful, before in my life.” 

“Then the house suits you? I am pleased at that, as 
this is also your wedding gift from your husband, that 
is, if you think it is quite fastidious enough for your 
refined taste,” replied he, laughing merrily. 

“Oh! Carl, do not say that. It is a marvel of 
beauty,” she answered, blushing deeply and looking 
down at her very simple drab traveling gown. On 
learning of Carl’s great wealth, she had a feeling of 
timidity, not knowing whether she should fill the posi- 
tion satisfactorily to him. 

“I cannot forgive myself for ever giving you a 
moment’s suffering, and I so misjudged my dear kind 
father as well as you, my dear Carl,” she said, kissing 
him affectionately. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


261 


“My darling, life is full of mistakes. I could have 
shared your sorrow and lightened the burden. In 
every large city there are many cases of secret sorrow 
and hidden unhappiness that make home life a misery.” 

“I shall pray that no such sorrow may ever cross our 
pathway, dearest Carl, and it will always be my great- 
est desire to make your life very happy.” 


262 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Time speeds onward. Five years have now passed 
away. The bells of Christmas have chimed forth their 
merry peal. The bright rays of the morning sun glitter 
through green wreaths in a room fragrant with flowers, 
and on a Christmas tree laden with bright toys. The 
happy prattle of two beautiful children can be heard, 
as they together sit on a soft tiger rug playing with 
some toys they have gathered from the tree. Grandpa 
Boynton and Uncle Joe are sitting near and laughing 
heartily at their funny little sayings. Beatrix, if pos- 
sible more beautiful in womanhood than in girlhood, 
whose domestic life had been one of uninterrupted hap- 
piness, is seated in a luxurious chair, equipped in furs, 
listens for a moment with a proud, happy, contented 
smile on her face, then stoops, kisses them fondly and 
says, “Good-by, my darling children, mamma must go 
to the hospitals and see some poor little children and 
take them some nice things to eat and some pretty little 
toys to make them happy.” 

“I will escort you to the carriage and take a little 
stroll down the avenue,” said Joe. 

They both sauntered out together, Beatrix walking a 
short distance by his side. Hearing shambling foot- 
steps from behind and looking around they saw a 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


263 


woman considerably under the influence of liquor. 
Her face was bloated and red, her hair was disheveled 
and white with age, loose locks hung carelessly over 
her shoulders. Her clothes were shabby from long 
wearing, what once had been rich and elegant. * ‘ Say, 
Mr. Boynton,” said the woman, with an affected smile, 
“can’t you forgive me and get the old man to give me 
a little money?” 

“No, not by one word will I intercede in your behalf. 
You are a heartless, unprincipled woman to deceive a 
good man for so many years.” 

“But, Mr. Boynton, I did not know that Mr. Ter- 
hune was living,” she persisted, with an assumed 
smile. 

“Yes, you did; you gave him sum after sum to keep 
him silent, and made the innocent suffer as long as you 
could.” 

“I did not mean to,” she answered, with a grin. 

“You are too much under the influence of a disgusting 
liquid to comprehend well what you are saying. Now, 
go your way, you miserable woman. You have done 
all the harm you can.” 

“Are you hungry?” inquired Beatrix, holding out a 
handful of silver coins, with a look of disgust mingled 
with pity on her sweet face. “I will give you these if 
you promise me you will never annoy or molest my 
father again. 

“Excuse me,” she drawled out, as she took the silver 
and shuffled past. That was the last that was ever 
heard of her. 


THAT OTHER WOMAN. 


264 

The shades of night were fast approaching when Bea- 
trix returned home. She opened the door on a merry 
group. “My darling, we have been watching and 
waiting for you for some hours,” said Carl, as he arose 
and removed her long fur cloak. 

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting dinner, but I 
was delayed longer than I expected, I had so many toys 
to distribute to those poor children,” she said, with 
compassion. 

“My dear daughter, I fear you will break down un- 
der this constant strain of charitable work. You are 
neglecting your social duties, which every one deplores. ” 

The speaker was none other than Mrs. Clayton, w T ho 
had learned to love her as an own daughter. 

“I am so grieved at the misery I see around me that 
I think I ought to try to show my gratitude for the 
great blessings I nave received by throwing some gleam 
of sunshine and brightness into the pathway of those 
less fortunate.” 

Beatrix’s heart is always open to the helpless and 
needy. Her life is one of charity, sweetness, tenderness, 
peace and love. 


THE END. 


OREAT 



Is fast becoming the Most Reliable Remedy of all, for the cure of 

Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, Asthma, Grip, Chronic Colds, and Alt 
Inflammatory Diseases of the Throat and Lungs. 

This Great Remedy contains the bark that cures this dread disease, 
Consumption. It is nature’s own remedy, composed entirely of barks, 
free from all opiates, carefully compounded, and can be taken by the 
weakest or most emaciated person. 


IT ACTS DIRECTLY ON THE AFFECTED PARTS. 

Unlike all other remedies, it does its work through the blood, kills 
the germs, loosens up the phlegm, enables the patient to throw it off, 
cleanses the lungs of the foreign substance and allows the air to circulate, 
thus purifying the blood. It assists nature to do its work and brings back 
new life and vitality. It also strengthens the action of the heart, purifies 
the system, and regulates the digestive and other organs. One bottle will 
convince the most skeptical of its merits. 

Life is sweet. Where there is life there is hope. Never give up. 
KOBO will cure you. Remember, it cures in all stages. KOBO has 
cured many who have been pronounced by reputable physicians as incur- 
able. 


READ THE FOLLOWING TESTIMONIALS: 

KOBO MEDICINE CO., Warm Springs, Va., April 15 , / 8 g 8 . 

510 F St. N. W., Washing-ton, D. C.: 

Gentlemen : I am g-lad to testify what Kobo has done for me. In September last 
I was pronounced by Physicians incurable and beyond hope with Consumption. Had 
several hemorrhages, ffbecame so weak I could scarcely walk. In January I com- 
menced taking Kobo. After I had taken four bottles I felt perfectly well ; I weighed 
15 pounds more than I have weighed in ten years. To anyone suffering with lung 
trouble, I can certainly recommend Kobo. Respectfully, 

MRS. FANNIE ETTINGER. 


KOBO MEDICINE CO., Washington, D. C., May iq y i8q8. 

510 F St. N. W., Washington, D. C.: 

Gents : In January last I was suffering with lung trouble, the pains in my chest 
was so severe I could scarcely get my breath, coughed almost incessantly, raised a 
large amount of phlegm. I tried a great many remedies, yet could obtain no relief. I 
was induced to try your great Consumption Cure, Kobo, and to my great surprise I at 
once got relief. After I had taken two bottles, I was entirely cured. I am pleased t# 
add my testimonial, as I never had anything do me so much good, and can confidently 
recommend it. Very respectfully, 

JOHN E. BUCKLIN, 338 Firet St. S. E. 

VAAAAAAAAAAA ^VVWVVWX 

kt Trial sent Free, on Application to 


KOBO MEDICINE CO., Manufacturers, 

510 F STREET N. W., - WASHINGTON, D. G, 

PRICE, 91.90. 


~t ^ r f~ i i~~nA 


a 


f . TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher. 


The following Copyrighted Novel*, published at 50c. 
per copy, are now sold at 250 each. 

RENTED— A HUSBAND. By Voisin. * 

mSS DEVEREUX OF THE MARIQUITA By R. H. Sarag •. 

FACING THE FLAG. By Jules Verne. 

HOW WOMEN DOVE. By Max Nordau. 

IN THE OLD CHATEAU. By Richard Henry garage. 
SOME WOMEN AND A MAN. By William J. Locke. 

A DAUGHTER OF JUU AS. By Richard Henry garage. 
THE LAND OF PROMISE. By Paul Bourget. 

THE FLYING HALCYON. By Richard Henry Sarage. 
THE CHARLATAN. By R. Buchanan and Henry Murray. 
THE PRINCESS OF ALASKA. By Richard Henry Sarage. 
THE ANARCHIST. By Richard Henry Sarage. 

A DAUGHTER OF THE KING. By Alien. 

FOR LIFE AND LOVE. By Richard Henry Sarage. 

A MONK OF CRUTA. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 

LIFE AND SERMONS OF DAVID SWING. 

THE MASKED VENUS. By Richard Henry Sarage. 

THE FALLEN RACE. By Austyn Granville. 

A YOUNG LADY TO MARRY, and other French Stories. 
SWEET DANGER. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

THE SPIDER OF TRUXILLO. By Richard Henry Sarage. 
HAWAIIAN LIFE. By Charles Warren Stoddard. 

AFTER MANY YEARS— Poems. By R. H. Sarage. 

IN THE DAY OF BATTLE. By J. A. Steuart. ] 
CAMPAIGNS OF CURIOSITY. By E. L. Banks. 

The above books, formerly sold at 50c., are now sold at 
*5*. each, and may be had everywhere, or will be sen* 
postpaid on receipt of price. 


F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 


9$ v£ueen Street, 

LONDON. 


114 Fifth Avenue, 

NEW YORK. 


K m 9 




t 


. . . OTHER WORKS BY . . . 

CflPT. CHARLES KING 

TRUMPETER FRED. With full- page Illustrations. In 
Neely’s Prismatic Library. 75 cents. 

“TRUMPETER FRED” is a charming story and tastefully 
gotten up. I know of nothing in the book line that equals 
Neely’s Prismatic Library for elegance and careful selection; it 
sets a pace that others will not easily equal and none will pass.— 
E. A. Robinson. 


FORT FRAYNE. Captain Charles King Seventh Edition . 
Cloth, $ 1 . 25 . 


NOBLE BLOOD AND A WEST POINT PARALLEL, 


WARRIOR GAP. 


A GARRISON TANGLE. 

For sale everywhere, or sent, postpaid, on receipt 
of price, by the publisher, 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, 


114k Fifth. Avenue, 


New York. 



0reat English Remedy for 

GOUT and RHEUMATISM. 

Sure, Prompt, Effective. 

Large Box, 34, $1; Snail, 14 Pills, 60 Ota. 

BOX MAILED ON RECEIPT OP PRICE. 

Druggists and *24 William St., New York 




BOX BY MML ON RECEIPT OF 30 CTS. 

KT DRUGGISTS AHD 224 WILL1MST.NEW.YQBK; 



Box mailed on receipt of 50 cents. 


This wonderful and match- 

less Ointment has been a 
family standby and reliance 
of three generations, being 
one of the oldest household 
remedies in America, and 
those having once used it and 
experienced its wonderful 
curative powers, would not be 
without a box for its weight 
in gold. It can also be used 
with good results on horses 
and cattle for open wounds, 
sore neck, etc., etc. 

THE CELEBRATED 

R. CHINESE SHIN and 

TOILET P0WD2B. 

For Preserving, Restoring and 
Beautifying tlie Complexion. 

Sold by Druggists, Fancy Goods 
Houses and 224 William Street, 
New York. 

Box mailed on receipt of 25 cents. 

This is a most excellent 
article for cleansing and 
preserving the teeth. It 
hardens the gums, sweetens 
the breath, and beautifies 
the teeth. It contains no 
acid or harsh, gritty sub- 
stance-nothing that can 
Injure the enamel in the 
slightest degree. 

Sold by all Druggists, 
Fancy Stores and 224 Will- 
iam Street, New York. 


DR. O. R. BAKER’S 

PAIN * PANACEA 


The Greatest Pain Curing Remedy Known. 

Pain cannot long exist where this Remedy is faithfully used. For Pains In 
the Stomach, Back and Bowels; Flux, Colic, Burns, Bruises, Cuts, Swelling* 
toothache. Headache and Earache. 

Cures Almost Instantaneously, 

Always keep a bottle f.n your Medicine Closet# 
Three Sixes, 35c., 50c. an* $l*00r 




O F fl < - •« 

Worldly Wan 

By flalbelle H* H- Justice. 

12 MO. OLOTHi $1.20. 

«* VHC MOST POPULAR SOCIETY NOVELS OP THE YEAH. IftTCRESTlftS, 
STRONG AND BRILUANT. 

Syracuse Herald M It is a well written society noveL" 

Boston Ideas “A genuinely strong story— her characters Hve and 
move and breathe.** 

Newsdealers* Bulletin “A olever story, pure in tone .’ 4 

Phillipaburg Journal “Hard to find a more interesting story." 

Boston Times **A story of pure, sweet love." 

Loganaport Reporter 44 The story vivid and fascinating." 

Reform Advocate "Interesting in plot, well written.** 

Bvening Standard 44 A very strong book.** 

San Bran cisco Call 44 Will entertain the reader, clear, oompreheo> 

sive.** 

Boston Home Journal 44 A well told and interesting story.** 

Chicago Post "Descriptive work good, so are the passionate pa* 
sages, the author waxing surer and stronger as her word is harder." 

Bay ton Journal 44 Her friends are proud of her." 

Albany Journal 44 A drama of human Hfe." 

Chicago News 44 She has gifts somewhat unusual." 

Saturday Bvening Herald 44 Full of vigorous writing . 4 

Net Sole by all Booksellers* or sent on receipt of Pries bythsPnbA Mag 

W.WtmraOH H^QblO^ HOW Torts* 




IN THE QUARTER. 

By ROBERT W. CHAflBERS, 

Author of •« The King in Yellow.” 


Neely’s Prismatic Library. 

50 cents. 


A new novel by the author of that wonderful book, “ The King in Yellow,” 
is an event of considerable importance to the reading public ; nor will a perusal 
of “In the Quarter ” disappoint those critics who have predicted such a glorious 
future for Robert W. Chambers. As the title would indicate, the story deals with 
life in the Quartier Latin, in Paris, where the merry art students live and move 
and have their being, and over which the halo of romance ever hangs ; a pecul- 
iar people with whom we have spent many an entrancing hour in company with 
such volumes as “ Trilby ” and “ A King in Yellow.” 


PRESS NOTICES: 

Book Buyer, New York:— “ It is a story of a man who tried to reconcile 
irreconcilable facts. . . Mr. Chambers tells it with a happy choice of wQjrds, 
thus putting ‘ to proof the art alien to the artists.’ . . It is not a book for the 
unsophisticated, yet its morality is high and unmistakable.” 

Brooklyn Citizen “ Full of romantic incidents.” 

Boston Courier “ Interesting novel of French life.” 

Boston Traveler “ A story of student life written with dash and surety 
of handling.” 

Boston Times:— “W ell written, bright, vivid; the ending is highly dra- 
matic.” 


New York Sunday World “ Charming story of Bohemian life, with its 
bouyancy, its romance, and its wild joy of youth . . vividly depicted in this 
graceful tale by one who, like Daudet, knows his Paris. Some pages are exquis- 
itely beautiful.” 

Philadelphia Bulletin “ Idyllic— charming. Mr. Chambers’ story is 
delicately told.” 

) New York Evening Telegram “ It is a good story in its way. It is 
rood in several ways. There are glimpses of the model and of the grisette— all 
dainty enough. The most of it might have come from so severe a moralist as 
George Eliot or even Bayard Taylor.” 


New York Commercial Advertiser. “ A very vivid and touchingly told 
story. The tale Is interesting because it reflects with fidelity the life led by cer- 
tain sets of art students. A genuine romance, charmingly told.” 


Congregation a list. Boston “ Vivid, realistic. There is much of no- 
ty is it. A decided and excellent moral influence. It is charmingly written 


bility 
from cover to cover.” 


Few sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 

F. TENNYSON NEELY. Publisher. 

96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Aveau*. New Yer^ 


Petronilla, the Sister. 

By Emma Homan Thayer. 

Cloth, $1.25. 


Mrs. Thayer’s art books have made for her a 
world-wide reputation as a writer, and an illustra- 
tor of the wildflowers of America. “Petronilla” 
is her first novel, and we can honestly recommend 
it as a most delightful story indeed. The gifted 
writer paints human loves and vanities with much 
the same dexterity she has exhibited as an artist in 
delineating the delicate hues of the modest wild- 
flowers she so fondly worships. We take pleasure 
in recommending so chaste and interesting a story 
to the public. In this day of erotic literature such 
a book is doubly welcome, and “Petronilla” is of 
such a character as to hold the reader’s attention to 
the last page. The scenes are laid in New York 
City, with a bright and spicy visit on a ranch in the 
mountains of Colorado, a region in which the writer 
is evidently at home. The illustrations, some forty 
in number, partly by the author, and ably abetted 
by the well-known artist, Remington W. Lane, ad <3 
piquancy to the letterpress. 


For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price. 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 

96 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth Avenue, New Yoffc*' 


Latest Novels of 


ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE, 

Author of •• DOCTOR JACK.” 

In ' A Bar Sinister,” St. George Rathborne has hinged the leading dramatic 
features of his romance upon a remarkable decision of a New York judge 
whereby a man was declared to have committed bigamy with one wife , and whicl 
strange charge was borne out by the laws of the State. The scene of action is 
transferred from beautiful Naples, under the shadow of Vesuvius, to the wonde 
land of Petti, where, amid the towering Andes, the various interesting character, 
work out their destiny. 

“Masked in Mystery, A Romantic Story of Adventure under Egyptian 
Skies,” is another of those readable, up-to-date romances of foreign travel and 
strange intrigues, from the pen of St. George Rathborne, who has given the 
reading public many bright tales of American pluck and heroism the world over, 
among which we recall his “ Doctor Jack” and a volume recently issued called 
M Her Rescue from the Turks.” 

“ Her Rescue from the Turks,” by St. George Rathborne, is the very latest 
romance of foragn adventure, written by the well-known author of “ Doctor 
Jack.” The field chosen could hardly have been more timely, since the eyes of 
the whole civilised world are at present turned toward the Orient, and armed 
Europe might be compared to an arch of which Turkey is the keystone. This 
story is rapid in action, with a vein of comedy illuminating the whole. 


Uniform editions, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50c* 
SQUIRE JOHN. 

A SON OF MARS. 

A BAR SINISTER. 

A GODDESS OF AFRICA. 

MASKED IN MYSTERY. 

HER RESCUE FROM THE TURKS. 


Per sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price, 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher, 
p6 Queen Street, London, 814 Fifth Avenue, New York, 


RACHEL DENE, 

BY Rob&RT BoOHflNftN# 

| fifltoret “1 3ie Charlatan/’ “The Shadow of the Sweat/* 

the Man.” 

tamo. Cloth, $1.35. 

(NEELY’S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY^ 

EwMiWg 

Telegram, “ Rachel Dene is one of Robert Buchanan’s best tvatkfe 57 

Cincinnati Tribune. « This is a good stow.” 

Rocky “Rachel Dene by Robert Buchanan is one of Us be S3 

Mountain News, stories.” 

Record Union. “ Mr. Buchanan has not presented a stronger story. He 
prefaces It with the story of his life in literature and gives the writers 
and ambitious youth some excellent advice.” 

Commercial “ An excellent story full of strong points, both construct* 

Bulletin. ively and from a literary standpoint. It Is practical. It 

deals with the dark and bright side of life, but always to show the 
advantage of the bright side.” 

NashvHLe “ The book is clean and wholesome— enough of complexly 

Christian in the plot to furnish the reader with occasional suf* 

Advocate. prises.” 

Fullerton News. “ A very fascinating tale.” 

Western Christian “ Fascinating, stimulating— a novel of love, murder* 
Advocate. jealousy, falsa imprisonment, escape and vindication. 

Boston Ideas. “Its elements are excellently characteristic— very likely 
due to its being an accurate picture for which commendation is due.” 
The American. “ Is fully equal, if not superior to his former novels.” 


The Oates of Dawn 


By Fbrgu© •Humb. 

author *• &iy«tery of a Hansom Cab,” “ Miss Mephistophelean 

ssroo. Cloth, $1,95, 

>*jSELY’JS INTIbkNATlONAI 


Otis Library 
Bulletin. 
Nashville 
Banner. 


A remarkably versatile and ingenious romance, replete 
with vivid descriptions and stirring incidents.” 

“A well arranged plot and the interest of the story is well 
sustained.” 


Mr. Hume has built around a group of interesting characters a story of 
the old order of plot and counterplot, where there is mystery surrounding 
the heroine’s birth— a wealthy man, in disguise, meets and loves heiv-a 
wicked female villain brings danger to the course of their true love— a good 
friend aids them in their hour of need, and all ends well. The people who 
make up this story are “ A doctor addicted to opium, a pair of gypsies, a 
recluse lady, a lovely huntress, and a sporting parson,” besides the hero, a 
lord of high degree, Pete, a fox terrier, and Simon, a horse. There is a 
mysterious hatching of plots among the gypsies and much prophesying. The 
parson is a “simple, kindly old fellow, given to strong ale, terriers and 
bluster.” There is a great house with a witch, who holds nightly orgies in 
the empty rooms at midnight, frem which come cries of tortured women and 
dying men, while try day this witch “ tires her head, decks herself with gems, 
dbthos herself in rich garments,” and makes a mystery of herself generally. 
Site by far Fergus Hume’s best book. 


fbbbOle by all Booksellers % or seni on receipt of Price bp the A iW W fc H fc 

9. imtmsoN NSBX.Y, ouooso, a«w Vote. 


Neely’s Prismatic Library. 


GILT TOP, 75 CENTS. 


“I KNOW OF NOTHING IN THE BOOK LINE THAT 
EQUALS NEELY’S PRISMATIC LIBRARY FOR ELEGANCE 
AND CAREFUL SELECTION. IT SETS A PACE THAT 
OTHERS WILL NOT EASILY EQUAL, AND NONE SUR- 
PASS A. ROBINSON. 


A GUIDE TO PALMISTRY. 

By Mrs. Eliza Easter-Henderson. 
THE BULLET. Max Nordau. 

MONTRESOR. By Loota. 

REVERIES OP A SPINSTER. By Helen Davies. 
THE ART MELODIOUS. By Louis Lombard. 

THE HONOR OF A PRINCESS. 

By P. Kimball Scribner. 
OBSERVATIONS OP A BACHELOR. 

By Louis Lombard. 

KINGS IN ADVERSITY. By E. S. Van Zile. 
NOBLE BLOOD AND A WEST POINT PARALLEL. 
By Captain King and Ernest Von Wildenbruch of 
the German Army. 

TRUMPETER FRED. By Captain King. Illustrated. 
FATHER STAFFORD. By Anthony Hope. 

THE KING IN YELLOW. By R. W. Chambers. 

IN THE QUARTER. By R. W. Chambers. 

A PROFESSIONAL LOVER. By Gyp. 

BIJOU'S COURTSHIPS. By Gyp. Illustrated. 

A CONSPIRACY OF THE CARBONARI. 

By Louise Muhlbach. 
SOAP BUBBLES. By Dr. Max Nordau. 


For tale everywhere, or seat, postpaid, on receipt of price. 

F. TENNYSON NEELY, PuUMwr, 

96 Queen Street, 1*4 FlfEi Avenue, 


LONDON. 


NEW YORK. 








OGF! Q l XVW 



































































♦ 


















































































































































































* 

) 












» 














* 



























' 

* 








a 


















$ 






